


we'll climb mountains together

by seastruck



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Canon Era, Domestic Shenanigans, M/M, Newsies As Family, Period Typical Bigotry, Period Typical Life Obstacles, Post-Strike, Slow Burn, Some Unrealistic Solutions to Problems, but it's really not, dumbassery and inability to use words displayed by our two male leads, i wish this was more fluffy, newsies love their oblivious bisexual dads, vague hints of newsbians and sprace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:07:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 34,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22383052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seastruck/pseuds/seastruck
Summary: (Alternately (kind of) titled: Five times that David and Jack were oblivious about basically being married and/or parents and the one time it was so obvious even these idiots noticed)“Youse talk funny,” one of the kids said suspiciously when Jack had introduced him to the mass of them a week or so after the strike, “youse sure you from ‘Hattan?”Jack had thrown his head back and laughed while David cursed his pale complexion; it made the inevitable blush that much more visible. Though whether it was because of the question or the infectious smile that had lit up Jack’s face, he refused to think about.
Relationships: David Jacobs/Jack Kelly
Comments: 107
Kudos: 427





	1. i. i’ll come tackle the monsters (i’ll find where they hide in the nighttime)

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work in the fandom. I used to love the movie when I was a kid and then I just discovered the live musical version and fell in love. And here I am. The dialect the newsies use and research into turn of the century New York City might kill me at some point, but nothing ventured, nothing gained. Title comes from Emeli Sande's _Mountains_ , which is amazing and you should listen to it. 
> 
> The Javid relationship is going to unfold; so this chapter is a little light on that front, but it gets progressively more integrated and painful going forward. 
> 
> **Warning** : There is an instance of actual and attempted violence towards a child in this chapter. So, if that's triggering, maybe look into a reader or feel free to ask me any concerns you might have. It's not graphic, but it's there.

The youngest newsies didn’t know what to make of David; he could tell. 

They adored Jack; he could barely walk into the lodging house without being immediately surrounded by a chorus of happy voices, hands tugging on him, desperate for attention. Crutchie was almost as beloved, his gentle nature and positive attitude something they gravitated towards. There seemed to be some kind of universal understanding to treat Race with an equal amount of respect and teasing abuse that he dished back without thought, but was still full of the kind of fondness he normally reserved for good cigars and conning others out of their money. The other older newsies – Specs, Albert, Finch, Romeo, Elmer – were all treated like older brothers; the same familiar way that Les treated him. 

But David? They were wary. Not meeting his eyes at all, shying away completely or – conversely – aggressively staring him down and waiting. He felt a little like an animal in a circus sometimes, as if they were expecting him to perform a trick. He was just too different from what they knew. He talked different. He looked different. He had a home and parents. He’d gone to school. He was an Outsider, and there but by the grace of Jack Kelly and no other reason. 

(“Youse talk funny,” one of the kids said suspiciously when Jack had introduced him to the mass of them a week or so after the strike, “youse sure you from ‘Hattan?”

Jack had thrown his head back and laughed while David cursed his pale complexion; it made the inevitable blush that much more visible. Though whether it was because of the question or the infectious smile that had lit up Jack’s face, he refused to think about.)

Thankfully, they didn’t give Les the same hands-off treatment; pulling him into the tight knit group with little more than a second thought. But then, his brother had always been easy to befriend and talk to, jumping right in the middle of any situation as if it were nothing. Their older sister Sarah was the same way. 

(Sometimes he felt like an outsider at home too. Not that he’d ever admit it.)

Still, Jack’s grace got him through the door and some of the others relaxed a little when they were told about his involvement in the strike and saw how the guys had already accepted him into the fold. There were a small handful though, led by a tiny, scowling eleven-year-old named Rambler, who hated David so vehemently, that David actually tried to remember if he had ever accidentally insulted any newsie before he’d become one himself. That disapproval manifested in a variety of small push backs and brush offs that David didn't really know what to do with.

(“Jack, this isn’t funny.” 

Jack tried to bite down on the chuckles that kept sneaking out, without a lot of success. David resisted the urge to roll his eyes at his friend’s effort. “I don’t know, Dave, kinda gives it personality, ya know?” 

“Jack.”

Jack coughed, attempting to be serious. “No, you’re right. I’ll talk to ‘im. Knows better than that anyway; a guy’s stuff is off limits. ‘Specially one of our own.” 

David nodded. “Thank you.” 

“Yeah, sure,” Jack’s bright grin crept back onto his face incrementally, and he leaned into David’s side briefly, digging into his ribs in a companionable jab, “What the hell’d you do anyway? Ain’t never seen him this sore about nothin.” 

“I don’t _know_ ,” David groaned, and rubbed a hand down his face in frustration. “I exist. Apparently, that’s enough.” 

Jack scoffed, but his expression was fond. “Don’t be so dramatic, Davey.” 

_It’s not dramatic if I’m **right**_ , David thought meanly. He didn’t say it because the voice in his head reminded him too much of the tone Les used whenever their mother made beets for dinner and he refused to stoop to that level. He was almost eighteen for god sakes. 

He tugged the ruined carrier bag closer to his face, fascinated despite himself by some of the paintings forever etched on the canvas of it. A series of brown blobs with sticks growing out of one side were near a group of bright towers and was that a roller coaster? – was it supposed to be Coney Island? Maybe he should give it to Spot, he might get a kick out of it – caught his attention and he pointed it out to Jack. “What is that supposed to be?” 

Jack stared at it for a moment and shrugged. “Deer?”

“Deer.” 

“Or hey,” he snapped his fingers, “what are those big deer called? The ones with the weird, long faces?” 

“Moose?” 

Jack pointed at him in agreement. “Maybe they mooses.” 

“Moose. There’s no other word for pluralizing them,” David said idly, trying to see it. The stick things must be antlers then. 

“Well, that’s stupid. Ain’t it confusin’? How’d you ever know what you’re talking about then if there ain’t no other word?”

“I don’t –” David stopped and blinked at Jack who was staring at him with a raised eyebrow as if he alone had the answers to how stupid the English language could be. “Nevermind. Let’s just go; I need to get a new bag apparently.” 

“Sure,” Jack clapped him on the back, “And I’ll be sure to talk to Rambler ‘bout it. See if I can get ‘im to lay off a ya for a while.” 

“Thanks, Jack.”)

And so, on it went. David trying to ingratiate himself to his detractor (and the rest of the newsies) in small ways (penny candy, which he got for all the younger newsies whenever he went to Floblum’s Store on their way over to the lodging house; bringing tattered blankets back home where Sarah and his mother laughed at his attempts to sew and then ended up helping him, before bringing them back afterwards), but nothing really worked. At times, it even seemed as if his efforts made the kid madder. 

David was at a loss. Which, of course, was when it from bad to worse. 

It had been a truly terrible day. Unseasonably mild for New York in January, as far as temperature went anyway, but the above freezing warmth meant that instead of snow, it rained. And kept on raining; turning the cold into a damp coolness that stuck to their clothes and seeped into their bones until all of them were almost beyond shivering. The weather had kept a lot of people inside and so selling was both physically miserable and hell on their pockets. 

Jack had to help Crutchie up the several flights of stairs the lodging house boasted, on account of how the wet cold wreaked havoc on his bad leg; so, it left the herding of the youngest newsies to David, Race and Specs. 

David was exhausted; just remembering that he and Les had to go back out in the rain to get home made him want to find the nearest cot and sleep until morning. Les was sitting curled up on the floor near the ancient radiator, half-asleep and waterlogged. He shook his head at his brother’s ability to get comfortable anywhere before his attention was caught on the struggling Rambler who was fighting to get his soaked coat off. 

The chill they all suffered through was made worse by virtue of almost none of them having gloves, so the cold made their fingers clumsy and all but useless. Race was leading a procession of kids towards the warm drinks that the older newsies had pooled some coins together to get for everyone and Specs and the others were helping the rest get out of their wet clothes and into dry blankets. Wearily, David walked over to the flailing Rambler and reached out for one arm.

Rambler froze for a moment and then, when he looked up and saw David, he frowned. “Oh, it’s you.” 

“It’s me,” David said, not bothering to blunt his sarcasm for once, he was too tired. “I’ll get this sleeve and you –” 

“I’se don’t need your help.” 

David sighed. “You looked like you did.” 

“Well, I _don’t_.” 

“Okay,” David took a step back and crossed his arms, “go ahead then.” 

Rambler eyed him and then began the struggle anew. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t grip the thin fabric and his hands slipped. David watched this for as long as he was able, but the frustrated sob-like noise that he finally let out was the end of it for him. He dropped his arms and stepped back up to the kid’s side. 

“Look, just let me help.” 

“ _No_.”

“For god sakes,” David said, genuinely angry now; he was cold and tired and he didn’t deserve this. He reached out again. “Why not? I can’t just stand here and –” 

He never saw it coming. For such a scrawny kid, he sure put a lot of nonexistent weight behind his fist. The blow hit him square on the nose and he straightened, flinching backward instinctively, hand coming up to cover the damaged body part. 

“I said I’se don’t want any help! ‘specially not from _you_!” 

The room went abruptly silent. As other newsies turned to gap at them; David cautiously took his hand away and was only mildly surprised to see some blood on his palm and fingers. He heard a voice – Race, he thought – but it was muffled, as if it were coming from a distance. He stared at the red stain, almost resigned. 

“Hey! You don’t get to hit my brother!” 

Les’ indignant voice cut through the stupor he’d fallen into and he made a grab for his little brother’s shirt as he tried to dart around David and get at Rambler. He snagged Les’ arm and pulled him back to his side, where he thrashed a bit in an attempt to get free and go after the other kid; who despite being at least a year older than Les, was actually smaller than him. 

“Davey!” Les said, looking up at him, “Let me go!” 

“No, Les.” 

“But he –” 

“What the hell’s goin’ on ‘ere?” Jack’s voice cut through Les’ pleas and quieted the mumbling in the background that David hadn’t noticed. 

Jack and Crutchie were standing in the doorway of the room. Jack’s expression was confused, but when he looked at David, his dark eyes widened in shock. 

“Jesus, Davey,” he breathed and moved over to his side in a few paces. He lifted a hand up, but stopped it before he actually touched David’s face. “What happened?” 

“Nothing happened,” David said, a curious numbness taking over, “It’s fine. I’m fine.” 

“Rambler hit him!” Les shouted, contradicting him immediately. 

“I didn’t mean too,” the youth in question said, voice soft and barely coherent. He sounded very young. 

“Liar!” Les yelled and began trying to get free again. 

Jack looked down at Les and then back at David. David tried to school his face into some bland look, but either he was terrible at it or Jack knew him far too well, because his brows cut downward over his face in anger and he looked over at Rambler. David did too for the first time since he’d been punched. 

The kid was standing there, almost like a statue. His hand was still balled up into a fist, but he was shaking slightly; his eyes huge in his face. He looked terrified. And stunned. As if he had been the one hit. 

“Is that true?” Jack asked. 

Rambler stuttered. “I—I—”

“Jack,” David said and put a hand on the other man’s arm, “don’t worry about it. It’s fine, really.” 

“You’re bleedin’,” Jack said, voice pitched an octave higher with incredulity, “how is that fine?” 

“It’s nothing, not like it’s broke or anything,” he said, “Look, I’m tired. You’re tired. We’re all cold. It was a misunderstanding. Les and I’ll go and you guys can finish up here and call it a night, okay?” 

Jack stared back at him stonily and David squeezed his arm. “ _Okay?_ ” 

Jack met his eyes, searching for something, before he nodded stiltedly. “Okay.” 

David’s shoulders dropped. “Good. We’ll get going, then.” 

Jack offered him a bed (“at least until the rain lets up”), but David begged off and gathered his dropped carrier in one hand; keeping a firm hold of a fuming Les in the other. Crutchie gave him a small, kind smile as they passed by and then they were out the door and away. 

“You should’ve let me soak him,” Les muttered once they were far enough away from the lodging house that David felt alright releasing him. 

He sighed. “And what would that have done, huh? Not gonna make him like me any more than he already does. Let it go, Les.” 

“He don’t get to treat you that way. It’ not right.” 

“It doesn’t matter,” David said with some finality, “And I don’t want to hear that you’ve started something tomorrow, either. I mean it.” 

“Fine,” Les finally said, sounding extremely put out and scuffing his shoe on the wet cobblestone of the road. 

So, the next couple of weeks were filled with a tense stand-off. Les refused to talk to Rambler or any of the others that had initially sided with him. David kept the same watchful eye on him that he did for all the younger kids, but didn’t try to talk to him or god forbid get close enough to provoke him. Rambler, for his due, was subdued and quiet; never quite meeting David’s eyes and the passive rebellion stopped altogether. David suspected that was more Jack’s doing than anything else. 

David was just getting used to the new way of things when they did another about face. 

\- - - - - -

The Delancey’s hadn’t been much trouble since winter had begun in earnest. The cold kept tempers at bay and no one had the energy to waste on fighting, physical or otherwise. But there were exceptions of course. 

Of the two brothers, Morris reminded David of the bullies at his school. Always talking about nothing, bragging and being cruel just for sake of it. What you saw was what you got. Oscar on the other hand, frightened him. He was so pale, he was almost ghostly looking and there was an element of contained violence that hovered around him all the time, laying in wait. And the _staring_ ; as if he could see right through someone. The look in those eyes whenever David met them was disquieting and he went out of his way sometimes to avoid him. 

He never did find out what had started it. David had only been alone on the way back because Jack and a couple of the others had stopped at a street vendor to ask about something and promised to meet him at the square. When he got there, only a couple of the younger ones were waiting, but it was Oscar that he saw first. He was practically vibrating with fury as he stared down at a shaky Rambler who was, despite his obvious terror, holding his ground. 

“You think you’re funny, you little shit,” Oscar growled; David’s heart stopped in his chest and then redoubled quickly at the sneer on the other teen’s face, “We’ll see if you’re still laughing after this, huh?” 

David saw the fear in Rambler’s eyes and he took off at a run, but was grabbed by an intercepting Morris just as Oscar backhanded the small newsie viciously; sending him reeling with a little cry. 

“Not so fast,” Morris said with a forbidding laugh, breath hot on the back of David’s neck, “can’t let you ruin all the fun. The brat has it coming.” 

“He’s a little kid,” David gritted out, struggling against the stronger boy’s grip.

“So?” 

David watched Oscar grin down at the collapsed Rambler and then, to David’s horror, he reached over and pulled out Wiesel’s bat from where it had been leaning against the wheel of the paper wagon. Rambler sat up, woozily, cradling his cheek and then froze when he saw what Oscar was holding. 

_No_ , David thought, on the edge of hysterical. There was no way he was going to stand here and watch Oscar beat a kid half to death (or worse) without doing something. He yanked on Morris’ hold and managed to get enough space around one arm to rear back and ram his elbow up and into the Delancey brother’s face as hard as he could. Morris cursed and dropped him and he ran over as Oscar lifted the bat up. 

It didn’t occur to him to take Oscar out which would’ve been the smart thing to do, but he’d been too busy paying attention to Rambler the whole time, watching as the kid desperately tried to scramble out of the way. As he got close to the scene, he skidded down and across the rough cobblestone and managed to just curl his body around the terrified newsie before Oscar brought the bat down in a hard arc, his considerable strength behind it. 

It hurt, obviously. So much more than the fight with the bulls during the strike. The first blow caught his shoulder and he felt the limb pop out of socket. The second and third hit his back and ribs and he bit his tongue hard enough to taste the coppery tang of blood to keep from screaming, but his grip on Rambler held and he kept the small body close to his and out of the line of fire. It didn’t actually last very long, half a dozen blows at most, before he heard a stampede of footfalls and then the clatter of a bat being dropped followed by the thud of one body tackling another on the ground. 

There was a lot of yelling and sounds of a fight, but they kind of bleed into the background as David tried to breath and found the task near impossible in his hunched position. His ribs were probably broken too, which wasn’t helping. A hand touched him gently on the shoulder and he cried out at the burning of it. The hand snatched back and a body dropped down beside his. 

“Davey? Davey, man, look at me,” Race’s high, panicked voice cut into the pain of his body. 

“Race?” 

“Yeah, yeah, it’s me,” the hand returned and pulled at his arm a little, “c’mon man, we gotta get outta here.” 

“Oscar?” 

“Jack’s got ‘im,” Race said softly, a hint of triumphant glee in his words, “can you move?”

David opened his eyes and looked over where Race was perched on his toes, blue eyes wide and worried. He blinked and tried to catalog his situation. Everything hurt. 

“I don’t know,” he answered. 

“Right,” Race looked around and then flung an arm out, “Albert! Get over ‘ere!” 

The redhaired newsie ran over and then stopped with a curse. “Shit.” 

“Well,” Race said exasperated, “don’t just stand there, get Rambler.” 

Albert crouched down and tugged at Rambler. Instinctively, David tightened his grip on his small charge and Albert huffed out a breath. 

“It’s just me, Davey,” he said, “Let ‘im go; I got him.” 

“Right, sorry,” he muttered and opened his hands from their death grip to let Albert take him. Rambler whimpered and David noticed for the first time that the kid had his own steel hold on David’s vest. Race reached in and pulled Rambler’s hands off of him, despite the protest the younger newsie made. 

“It’s okay, kid,” he said soothingly, “Go with Al; I’ve got Davey.” 

Rambler opened his eyes and stared up at David, looking for some kind of confirmation. David tried to smile – failed miserably – and then nodded. “Go, I’ll be fine.” 

Rambler went and Race turned his attention completely to David. He went to grab his bum arm and David flinched backward again and shook his head. 

“Not that one; it’s dislocated.”

“Fuck, okay,” Race said and then went around to his other side and pulled on that one until they were both standing. Despite his wiry build, Race kept both of them upright and fairly steady; taking most of David’s weight into his side. 

“We’se going to the lodging house; that okay? Davey?” 

David blinked; his head was pounding from the rushing of his blood and he was having trouble focusing. “What? No, yeah, that’s fine.” 

“Good.” 

“Wait,” he said before they’d taken more than three steps, “Jack. You said –” 

“Jack is fine,” Race said, he turned his head around to look at something and then peered back at David with a smirk, “More ‘an fine. Don’t think Oscar’s gonna show his ugly mug ‘round ‘ere for a while. Morris neither.” 

“If you say so,” David murmured. God, he was tired. Why was he so tired? 

“Let’s go, buddy,” Race said, voice back to soothing, “got all them stairs to climb, remember?” 

David just concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. 

Getting to the boarding house and into the upstairs lodging area was mostly a blur to David. He was greeted by a concerned Crutchie who pulled him out of Race’s hands and over to one of the bare, single beds. Together, they tugged David’s vest and shirts off – with little to no help from David himself – to get a better look at the bruising that was blooming across his side and back. There was a small detour when Race apologized and then swiftly and brutally pulled his shoulder back into socket which David only had a moment to feel relief about before passing out completely. 

\- - - - - -

When he woke up, the first thing he noticed was that he was boiling hot. The second thing was that the window opposite his vision told him it was night; the sky behind it an inky black. The third was the return of the pain that he had forgotten until that moment. He heard himself moan, but when he tried to shift his weight on the cot, he couldn’t move. Confused, he looked down and then stared. 

On one side, Les was curled around him, hat discarded and coat missing; one arm wrapped around David’s waist. On the other, shockingly, Rambler had tucked himself into David’s body, arms between them and head laying on David’s chest. Both boys were sleeping soundly. 

“What?” David whispered, befuddled. 

“Davey?”

David looked up. Jack was standing at the foot of the bed, shoulders slumped but when he met David’s eyes, he mustered up a tired smile and then carefully came around the edge of the bed and sat gingerly on the end of the thin mattress. He wrapped the fingers of his nearest hand around David’s ankle. 

“Jack?” 

“Thank fuck,” the other teen said, letting out a shuddery breath, “How you feeling?” 

“Sore,” David said honestly and was rewarded with a small laugh from Jack. 

The lantern by David’s bed was the only real light in the room and he could just catch the sight of a dark bruise shadowing the left side of Jack’s face and the line of red that indicated that his lip was split. David frowned. 

“What about you? Are you okay?” 

Jack rubbed at his eyes and his laugh this time was incredulous. “Really? You gotta ask that? No, David. You got the shit kicked out of ya; I am not okay.” 

David blinked, startled to hear his full name come out of Jack’s mouth. “I’ll heal.” 

“Yeah, sure, o’course,” Jack snorted.

“Well, what was I supposed to do?” David said, in what he thought was a reasonable tone, “Let Oscar kill Rambler instead? Christ, Jack. Better me than him.” 

“That’s not –” Jack stopped, glanced around the still room and lowered his voice to a whispered hiss, “That’s not da point and you know it. And it’s not better. Ain’t no good way for this to ‘ave happened.” 

“We’re both alive,” David said, “And relatively okay. Jack; it’s fine.” 

“Fine, he tells me,” Jack scoffed, “Like I ain’t been worried sick the whole night. Scared you wasn’t gonna wake up, or there was somethin’ we missed.” 

David swallowed the lump in his throat at that, all the indignation draining out of him abruptly at the desperate, thin edge to Jack’s normally sure voice. “Jack, I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize for fuck’s sake,” Jack groaned lowly and then looked back at David, gaze intense, “Just don’t do it again. I can’t – just don’t, okay?” 

“I’ll try,” David said, hedging. 

Jack rolled his eyes. “Guess that’s the best I’m gonna get, huh?” 

They settled into a comfortable quiet before David cleared his throat. “So, uh, you know what this is about?”

“What?”

David picked his arm up from where it had been lying on his chest and gestured toward Rambler. “This.” 

One corner of Jack’s lips tugged upward in a smile. “Right, that.” 

“Yeah, _that_. Last I knew the kid wanted me to disappear off the face of the planet. What gives?” 

“Davey,” Jack said patiently, “you is the smartest person I know. But sometimes you’re dumb as hell.” 

“Gee, thanks.” 

“Dave, you saved his life,” Jack continued, a little exasperated, “From what Rambler was babbling earlier, you jus’ jumped in there without a thought; took all the blows and kept telling ‘im it’d be alright.” 

David didn’t remember saying anything, but the whole beating was a little distant, as if he only half-remembered it. “It’s not a big deal. Any one of you would’ve done it, too.” 

Jack’s face softened and his smile went liquid and fond. David’s skin felt hot just looking at it. “Sure, we would have. But we weren’t there were we? It was you. An’ he don’t expect that from you; makes it important.” 

“I don’t understand.” 

“I talked wit ‘im after that night in the lodging house,” Jack said, letting go of David’s ankle and leaning back on his arm, so that his body was positioned over David’s legs. He looked at David closely, “About why he’s so mean to ya. And he said it didn’t matter none what he did because you wouldn’t stay anyway.” 

David frowned. “What?” 

“That’s what I said, and he said guys like you don’t stick ‘round and he didn’t know why the rest of us was too stupid to know that. Better you left now, then later.” 

David looked down at the slumbering kid and tried to see the situation from his point of view. It made a frightening amount of sense when looked at that way. He sighed and brought his hand down to rest on top of Rambler’s head. The kid snuggled a little closer at the touch. 

“And taking a pounding from Oscar Delancey is enough to convince him otherwise?” 

“Apparently. He and Les nearly got in a fight decidin’ who was gonna get to be on the bunk with you.” 

For the first time, David wondered about how the integrity of the bed was holding up to the combined weight of four people at one time. It didn’t seem sturdy enough for it. It was one of the bigger cots on the floor as well; he looked back at Jack suspiciously. 

“This is your bed, isn’t it?”

Jack shrugged. “When I sleep here, sure.” 

“I’m sorry,” David said, flustered by that information, “I didn’t mean to kick you out of your own bed.” 

Jack waved the apology away. “Don’t worry ‘bout it.”

“Still,” David said, but let it drop in favor of a different track of inquiry, “You know he was wrong, right?”

Jack tilted his head slightly, confused. “Wrong about what?” 

“About me leaving. I’m not going too; I’m here for the long haul, as long as you want me to be here, I’ll be here.” 

Jack stared at him silently, assessing the sincerity in David’s voice. David let him look; there weren’t a lot of things he was completely sure of, but this was one of them. Eventually, Jack glanced away and pulled his body back to one side of the cot; breath a little faster than it had been for the rest of the conversation. 

“Rest up, Davey,” Jack said, voice soft and unreadable, “I’ll get you home tomorrow.” 

“Sure. Goodnight, Jack,” he said and watched as Jack stood and returned to where he’d built a little temporary bed on the floor at the end of the cot. 

He sighed, the pain taking over his awareness now that he didn’t have anything else to focus on. His back throbbed and his breathing was clearly constricted – so, yes to the cracked/broken ribs then, that was great; his parents would be _thrilled_ – and his shoulder felt sore and unnaturally stretched. David looked down at the two boys on either side of him and felt a little of the pain fade at the vulnerable trust they were showing him. He put his arms around their shoulders and let the breathing of the room around him lull him back into sleep.


	2. ii. take your time, enjoy it (every fleeting moment)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys; thank you so much for the comments and kudos (and to everyone else who may have read it), you're all awesome! This chapter's shorter than the last one and from Jack's POV (they're going to alternate by chapter) because apparently he's not as verbose as Davey - go figure, huh? 
> 
> Chapter title from the song _fever dream_ by mxmtoon.

Letting go of Santa Fe was surprisingly easy. 

He’d said what he said outside Pulitzer’s office – and he meant it – but there was always a part of him that thought the yearning would come back. That a month or two post-strike, without Crutchie smiling at him on one side or Kath and Davey’s hopeful faces attacking him from the other, that his own mind might drag him back down into the blackness that used to drown him on the really bad days. That the steel towers surrounding him would crush inward and he’d forget the feeling of home that he’d had standing there with his boys all around and happier than they’d ever been. 

So, he waited for it. He spent time trying to make it up to Crutchie for abandoning him to Snyder’s not-so-tender mercies. He spent time with the kids who’d been too young to get really involved in the strike. He spent time building his trust back with Race and the others after that disastrous rally (he’d even apologized to Spot and the other borough’s leaders; gagged a little doing it, but he’d done it). And the whole time he waited for the familiar suffocating feeling to return; but strangely – impossibly – it never did. 

Davey probably deserved most of the credit for that. 

Before the strike, he’d been the unquestioned leader of the Manhattan newsies and the responsibilities of that were a lot more varied then someone on the outside would probably figure. Complaints and questions came to him. Any time a go between was needed for the boroughs, or the leaders had a meeting, he had to go. The younger newsies all looked up to him and even the older ones expected him to be know all the answers – the pillar of strength, Kath called him once. 

Being a pillar was exhausting. 

But without him really paying much attention to it, Davey had stepped in and just…taken over in a lot of the areas that Jack had always found the hardest. Practical questions went to Davey now, Union duties were shared between the two of them, and whenever Brooklyn came calling, Davey would roll his eyes, grab Race and march across the bridge to deal with it himself. Same deal with Midtown and Harlem. 

(Midtown’s leader was a fast-talking bastard named Piper that hated Jack almost as much as Jack hated him. For some reason, though, Piper thought Davey was the greatest thing since sliced bread. Which, you know, Jack couldn't argue the logic of; but the thought of it still rankled. He’d shown up at the last leader’s meeting in February and spent most of the meeting practically batting his eyelashes at an oblivious Davey. Jack made sure to keep the other teen close; no way was he going to let that skinny, pain-in-the-ass try to charm his way into Davey’s…anything.) 

And he was amazing with the younger kids; once they warmed up to him anyway. Not that he was surprised by that; he was great with Les and Les was more of a handful than a lot of the kids at the lodging house. He had a way of talking to them that made them feel listened too and appreciated. Rambler, who had spent the first five months treating Davey like he had a disease, now stuck to his side – when he could get away with it, anyway – like a very tiny, very angry shadow. 

(“What’s the matter with youse?” Rambler had yelled at a wide-eyed Elmer a week after Oscar Delancey beat Davey until his ribs and back were a whole array of purples and blacks. He shoved the older boy as roughly as his stick-thin frame could. “Don’t you know he ain’t healed yet?”

Elmer, who had clapped Davey on the shoulder with a smile, not thinking about his messed-up arm, stared at the pissed off spitfire in front of him and then looked over at Davey who seemed almost as stunned as he did. He scratched at the back of his neck. “Uh, sorry, Davey. Didn’t mean to hurt you none.” 

“It’s fine, Elmer,” Davey said and then turned a raised eyebrow at Rambler, who gave Elmer the fish-eye and stomped away, muttering all the while. 

“He’s like your knight in shining armor,” Jack said. 

Davey looked over at him and huffed. “He’s too small for armor. The weight would knock him straight down on his head.” 

Jack laughed at the image that created and Davey’s face lost its serious edge for a moment; the smile that made him actually look his age making an appearance. It never failed to make Jack itch for some clean paper and a pencil; maybe some charcoal, anything to capture it right. Though, truthfully, he’d need colors for that; he’d known Davey for over half a year now, and he still wasn’t sure exactly how to describe his eyes.) 

The point was, the stress that had pulled him down so easily and often before the strike never came back, mostly due to Davey’s intervening help. 

Which is probably why a part of him straight up panicked when Davey told him that their father had gotten a job at a factory and he and Les were going back to school. 

“Thought I should tell you first,” Davey said, sitting next to him on the grating of the fire escape outside the lodging house. Jack, who had been sketching out the fight he’d seen between the fishmonger and his wife earlier that day, froze the minute ‘going back’ had left Davey’s mouth. 

“That’s, uh, that’s real great, Dave,” Jack said to cover up the too-long silence that followed Davey’s announcement. 

“Uh-huh,” Davey scrunched his nose up in disgust, “We both missed so much that I don’t know if we’re going to be allowed back with our old classmates or not. Don’t tell Les, but I’m not exactly looking forward to it.” 

Well that makes two of us, Jack thought with not a small amount of bitterness. “Come on, Davey, it’ll be good. You gonna lose all those smarts if you keep hanging out wit only us all the time. Need someone whose can keep up with you.” 

Davey gave him the same frustrated look he always got when Jack talked down to himself. “I wasn’t exactly popular in school, Jack. Don’t get me wrong, I love learning, but I wasn’t close to anyone there.” 

Jack frowned. “You mean you didn’t ‘ave many friends?” 

Davey pulled his long legs up to his chest and refused to meet Jack’s eyes. “Not really.” 

“Seriously? What about girls?”

Davey laughed. It wasn’t a pretty sound. “You’re kidding right?”

“No, not really. What the hell, Dave?” 

“Oh, come on, Jack,” Davey said, voice wavering around the words, the way it did when he got visibly upset, “I’m not you; I don’t have your looks or charisma. Girls generally don’t give me a second glance.” 

Putting aside the comment about his looks that made him want to ask Davey what he meant by it; the idea was unfathomable to Jack; not to mention wrong. Whistler, the Harlem newsies second and one of the few girls in the trade, watched Davey with big, hopeful doe eyes whenever she saw him and one of Medda’s new singers, Lorraine, actually lost her voice mid-song the first time Davey smiled at her. Even Kath blushed a rosy pink the one-time Davey picked her up and twirled her around when she told them about her promotion to full-time reporter. So, what the hell was wrong with Manhattan’s school girls? 

“Dave –” 

“Sorry,” Davey cut him off, he relaxed his legs a little and perched his arms atop his knees, “I didn’t mean to dump that on you.”

“No, ‘s fine. What I’m here for.” 

Davey rose a brow at him mockingly. “To be a sounding board for my insecurities?” 

“Was gonna say to be your friend, but that works too.” 

“You’re a riot.” 

“Hey,” Jack put his sketch down and scooted over until their sides where touching, throwing an arm around the other teen’s shoulders. Davey’s skin was freezing; they’d have to go inside soon – early March hadn’t warmed up much yet. “Whatever you need, Davey. I got your back, one-hundred percent.” 

Davey looked over at him, and then knocked his body gently into his, a small, grateful smile lingering around his mouth. “Thanks, Jacky.” 

They didn’t talk about it again, but a week later Davey and Les disappeared from the hours of eight to three and Jack eventually broke down and took his panic to the only person he thought would humor him about it. 

Katherine was less than sympathetic. 

When their relationship had faded – the early winter chill leeching it of the heat that had sustained them through the strike and the three months afterwards – he’d been afraid that she would fade along with it. A ghostly reminder of a time that would haunt his decision to stay in New York. Fortunately, after a couple weeks of licking their wounds (mostly consisting of crying on Davey and Crutchie’s shoulders respectively), Kath had put on a brave face and came to visit the whole gang on her day off. She’d stuck close to Davey, but the bitterness and regret he had expected to feel when he saw her never materialized. Over the next few months they’d been able to actually become friends and the regret became gratefulness instead. 

Except in times like this. 

“Really, Jack? What exactly is the problem here?” Kath asked. 

“Ugh,” Jack dropped his arm from where it was draped over his face and looked up at Katherine, who was standing over where he had flopped his body on her couch the moment he walked in the door. “Nothing. Everything. I don’t know.” 

She snorted. “Well, that’s helpful.” 

“I don’t know,” he repeated, talking over her, “Just strange; I guess, not having ‘im there all da time.” 

“You said they come to the deli and the lodging house after school, so it’s not like you never see them.”

“I know.” 

“And the next Union meeting isn’t for another week, right? I know I heard Davey say he’d be there for it.” 

“ _I know_.” 

“Then I don’t know what to tell you,” she said, sounding sensible, which only put Jack’s back up more, “It doesn’t sound like a lot’s changed.” 

“But it could,” Jack groaned, sitting up. 

“Why?” Kath asked, confused. 

“Because he’s…he’s out there wit others that don’t need ta count all their pennies or make sure the kids ain’t freezing at night or ducking street gangs. What’s being wit us ever gotten ‘im, huh? Running from the bulls and threats and having the shit beat outta him by Oscar fucking Delancey,” he stopped, the bile that always followed his remembering that particular scene rising up in his throat, “What if…what if…?” 

_What if he figures he’s better off without us?_

Jack sucked in a breath, body going rigid as his mind picked up the thought and ran with it. Easy. It was so easy to imagine it. How quickly would Davey get tired of going to school all day and then trudging over to meet them and pick up after their messes too? Why stay in a rickety lodging house for hours with a bunch of kids all pestering him about a thousands things or having guys near his age treat him like he was someone ten years older and then have to walk all the way home in the dark just to start it all over again at dawn? 

“He could _leave_ ,” Jack heard himself say; voice almost unrecognizable. 

“Jack,” Katherine said, at a great distance, “Jack. You have to breathe. Come on, breath in and out. There, like that.” 

He only peripherally heard her, but his body was so used to responding to her voice that it did almost automatically and he pulled a few jagged breaths into his struggling lungs. 

“That’s it. Okay, look at me,” Kath said tone steady, “Jack. Look at me.”

Finally, he did. She’d sat down next to him at some point, one arm curled through his and the other hand rubbing gently down his back. Her expression was concerned with just a thin hint of long-suffering to it. When she saw that he was looking at her, she gave him a genuine smile and shook his arm a little. 

“I need you to listen to me now,” She said firmly, “Davey is not going anywhere.” 

“But –” 

“We’re talking about _Davey_ , Jack. The man knew you for what, a week? Two? And then he jumped right into a strike because you asked him to. He didn’t have to do that. And he definitely didn’t have to stick around afterwards. He knew what he was getting into.” 

Jack wasn’t so sure about that, but when he opened his mouth to say something, Kath narrowed her eyes dangerously and he clammed back up. She nodded to herself and then gave him another shake. 

“Davey cares about those kids, same as you. He isn’t going to disappear on you or them. School or not.”

“He could do better,” Jack muttered. 

“Better than people who want him to be happy and safe and looked after? Better than that doesn’t exist, Jack. Believe me, I know.” 

Jack reached over and closed a hand over hers instinctively, the way he always did when she talked around her parents. She squeezed his hand. 

“Now, are you done being stupid?” 

“You just’ sound so sure,” he said. 

“Would I lie to you?” 

“Maybe.” 

She swatted at him and then smiled brightly when he laughed at her frustration. When he got up to leave, she walked with him to the door and hugged him. 

“If you’re worried that he’s working too hard,” she said, thoughtful, “maybe you should do something for him.” 

“Like what?” 

“You’re the famous Jack Kelly,” she smirked, closing the door in his face, voice in sing-song, “I’m sure you’ll think of something.” 

\- - - - - - 

The idea came to him as he watched Davey writing an essay about the themes in _Frankenstein_ (whatever that meant) tucked away in the corner booth of _Jacobi’s_ while they waited for the rest of the boys to show up. The weather had finally broke and it meant that Jack was lucky enough to finish selling early and he’d slid into the other side of the table, listening as Davey went between the essay and helping Les with his arithmetic homework. He had a cartoon due on Pulitzer’s desk in two days, so he started sketching out ideas on one of the scraps of paper he collected for that purpose; letting the brother’s voices lull him into a creative coma. 

When he emerged, it was with a half-finished idea for a drawing and the sight of Davey rubbing his eyes roughly. Eyes that had dark circles framing them. He frowned and really looked at Davey. The other teen looked awful, the aforementioned bruises stood out against his paler-than-normal skin and Jack watched as Davey dug his teeth into an already ragged looking fingernail, contemplating the writing in front of him. 

“You look terrible,” he blurted out. 

Davey threw him a dark look. “Thanks, Jack.” 

“I mean you’re really pale. I didn’t think you could get no paler.” 

Davey dropped his pencil and folded his arms across his chest. “You got any other observations you think I need to hear, or can I get back to work?” 

Jack grimaced. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it bad.” 

“How else could you mean it?” 

“Jus’ that you look, you know, tired. You sleepin’?” 

“Yes,” Davey said, way too fast to actually be telling the truth. 

“Uh-huh,” Jack said, “I call bullshit.” 

Davey sighed. “Jack –” 

“When was the last time you saw da sun? Got more in common wit a ghost than a human right now.” 

“I want you to know: anyone who’s ever called you charming? They were lying.” 

“Davey, come on.” 

They stared at each other for a long, stubborn moment before Davey’s shoulders slumped and he looked down. Absentmindedly, he picked the pencil back up, twirling it between his fingers. Jack got a little mesmerized by the graceful movements and missed when Davey began talking again. 

He cleared his throat, willing the blush threatening to overtake his face down. “What’d you say?” 

“I said,” Davey repeated, tone impatient, “that I’ve been busy.” 

“No kiddin’,” Jack deadpanned, “Aint’t no excuse to go witout sleep.” 

“I can’t slow my mind down; end up tossing and turning all night. Sometimes I go out on the fire escape so I don’t keep Les awake.” 

“Moonlight ain’t the same as sunlight.” 

Davey gave him a defeated look. “I know.” 

“So, here’s the deal,” Jack said, leaning forward and forcing Davey to meet his eyes, “You, me and the boys. Central Park. Saturday.”

Davey’s eyebrows climbed up his forehead. “Central Park? What? Why?”

Jack shrugged, but smiled, warming up to the idea the more he thought about it. “Why not?” 

“You can’t just –” 

“Hey, Les,” Jack called over to where Les, done with his own homework, was now at the counter bugging an increasingly resigned Jacobi, “You wanna go ta Central Park on Saturday?” 

“Can we?” Les squealed, he turned huge eyes to look at Davey imploringly, “We could ask Sarah to come; she wants to meet everyone. Please?”

“You did that on purpose,” Davey hissed at him out of the side of his mouth. 

Jack grinned and laid his arms out on top of the booth. “I have no idea what you’re talkin’ about.” 

“Fine,” Davey huffed, “You win. We’ll go.” 

“Yes!” Les said with a fist-pump, swinging around on the barstool he was perched atop. 

Davey rolled his eyes, but that amazing smile showed up and Jack felt light as air for the rest of the week. 

The boys hollered like hooligans when he told them about it later that night and no one seemed to sit still for the next three days. Managing two dozen rowdy newsies was something that Jack was old hat at, but Davey looked increasingly harried as the journey wore on. Once they were there though and staked out the best spot ( _“It’s an art, Dave.” “It’s a patch of grass, Jack.”_ ) the chaos became endearing instead of trying. The kids were running around having conned Buttons and Mush into playing some game that Jack only half-paid attention too. Race, Albert, Finch and Elmer were daring each other to do increasingly ridiculous things and Romeo was talking Specs’ ear off while the other boy laughed. A few yards in front of him, Jack watched as Katherine practically vibrated in her seat at whatever Sarah Jacobs was telling her; her expression a mix of gob smacked and adoring. 

(When Les had introduced his and Davey’s older sister to him, Jack had noted immediately that in looks she and Davey clearly favored one another, but that glint in her eye as she looked him up and down was definitely all her own. 

“You didn’t tell me he was handsome, Dave,” she’d said and then smirked when Davey groaned and brought up a hand to hide his face. Jack tried not to preen too obviously.)

And Davey just kinda …unfurled. He collapsed down next to Jack, then lay back, hat off, hands underneath his head and legs crossed at the ankle. 

“You okay there, buddy?” 

“Hmmm.”

“’Dat a good sound or not?” 

“Hmmm.”

“Words, Dave.” 

“Jack, shut the fuck up.” 

Jack basically cackled; he couldn’t help it. Beside him, Davey’s eyes remained closed, but his mouth curled up at the corners. 

_I almost missed this_ , he thought, chest aching at the idea. He looked around at the joy lighting up the guys faces. He’d almost missed this. And for what? Fresh air? Space? What the hell was all this then? 

_Don’t forget the tarantulas_ , Davey’s voice in his mind reminded him. 

He looked down at the man in question and itched for his paper. Sprawled out on the grass, spring sun flooding his features, Davey was something else. Almost otherworldly. 

_Stunning_.

To hell with it; he reached into his bag and pulled out a pencil and the sketchpad Katherine had gotten him for Christmas. He was here now and he wasn’t missing this. 

Letting go of Santa Fe was surprisingly easy. 

(It was mostly Davey’s fault.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1] Central Park did, in fact, exist in 1900. I learned that on my journey through the What Existed in New York City (and elsewhere) in 1900? trivia and scavenger hunt that is my research for this story. 
> 
> 2] Normally, I use eye color in my descriptions, but to my constant frustration I cannot for the life of me - and after much creepy staring - figure out what color Jordan or Fankhauser's eyes are. It's fucking ridiculous. (tbf, i can't figure out anyone beside Race's eye color either.) I know we tend to use brown and blue respectively, but is that accurate or just giving the movie versions a shout-out?


	3. iii. i feel like ruin's wooing me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, all my love to those who read, kudos' and commented - You guys are the real heroes here. 
> 
> This chapter is a monster (around 8000 words), which is funny because when I started this fic I thought that was how long the whole thing was going to be. Jokes on me, I guess. 🤦 My headcanon about Race being a math genius is on display here, so there's that. 
> 
> Also, barring RL disasters or other catastrophe's, I'm planning to update this every Wednesday until it's done. Further history notes are at the end of the chapter. Chapter title from _Battle Scars_ by Lupe Fiasco.

“What’s a res-plan-dance?”

David stopped writing and looked up at where Albert was laying backwards on one of Jacobi’s tables, head hanging off the side, a customer’s discarded paper in front of his face. “What?”

“Res-plan-dance?”

He tried to picture it and couldn’t. “Spell it.” 

“R-E-S-P-L-E-N-D-E-N-C-E.”

“Resplendence. It means, uh, grand? Like something with a lot of pomp and richness. Why?” 

“Article about the World’s Fair in Paris, ya know? Ain’t never seen the word before.” 

“There’s lotta words you ain’t seen,” Finch piped up from his seat at the aforementioned table, his head bent over some kind of structure he was making with sugar cubes and toothpicks. 

Albert sat up and glared at him. “Like you do? ‘S why I asked Davey an’ not you.” 

Finch rolled his eyes. “We all ask Davey; you ain’t special, birdbrain.” 

“Whose you callin’ birdbrain, _Finch_?” 

“You. On account of those pretty red feathers ya got growing out a’ your head.” 

Albert rolled up the paper and smacked Finch – hard – across the head. The air from his arm’s movement knocked over Finch’s creation and he scowled up at the other teen. Their bickering descended into a light tussle that had old man Jacobi rushing out from the back to yell at them in person. Davey shook his head at their antics before he tried to turn his attention back to his homework with a sigh. Normally, science was one of his favorite subjects, but everything that was interesting about biology was leeched out in the other disciplines. If he never had to hear another word about the periodic table again it would still be too soon. 

He was just finishing up the last of his balancing equations when Jack flung himself into the opposite side of the booth with all the grace of a thundering rhino. David looked up at him, comment on his tongue, then he actually saw the look on Jack’s face and the comment died a sickly death. 

“What happened?” 

Jack, who until then had been staring at some unnamed space behind David’s shoulder, slid his eyes over to David’s face and grimaced. He pulled his carrier bag over his head, took his cap off and ran an agitated hand through his mussed hair. “I finally talked ta Race.” 

David put his pencil down, shoved his mostly completed worksheet to the side and leaned over the table. “Did he actually tell you what’s wrong?”

Race had been visibly off in the last week. Quieter and far more likely to lash out at the guys. He looked as if he could barely manage to live in his own skin and David hadn’t seen him smoke anything in days; his ever-present cigar absent. It was disconcerting. The problem was that no matter how hard he and Jack tried to ask him if there was anything going on, they could never get him alone to interrogate him. He was slippery as an eel and twice as elusive when he wanted to be. 

“Didn’t give him no choice,” Jack said, voice weary, he scratched at the stubble lining his jaw and sighed, “Was madder ‘an a wet cat, but he talked.” 

“And?” David prompted. 

“And he said that ‘is father showed up at the track last week. Lookin’ to talk to ‘im.” 

David blinked, caught off guard. He probably shouldn’t have been; Race was one of the few newsies who actually carried a surname, but beside those comments he’d made about David’s own early on before they really knew each other, Race had never once mentioned having parents. David had assumed they were dead, like Albert’s, or as good as like Crutchie and Mush’s. Even Jack, no matter how bitterly he despised his father, still mentioned him on occasion. 

“I, uh, didn’t know Race had a father,” David said slowly, trying not to show how thrown he was. 

“He ain’t much a one, so don’t go beatin’ yourself up ‘bout it.” 

“Okay, well,” David said, swallowing around the ache those words caused, “what did his father want?” 

“To give ‘im a job.” 

David wondered if he was destined to spend this whole conversation wrong-footed. “A job?”

“Yeah.”

“A job.” 

Jack frowned. “It’s what I said, isn’t it?” 

David rubbed at his eyes. “Jack, I get that this is…not a good thing, but you’ll have to explain to me why exactly it isn’t. I don’t know the man, remember.” 

“It ain’t good ‘cause…look, you heard ‘a da Crossroad Corners Gang, yeah?”

David felt his jaw drop and found himself leaning into Jack’s hushed voice incredulously. “Are you serious? Are you actually saying that Race’s father is involved in all that?” 

“Since ‘fore Racer was born,” Jack said grimly, “Before they was the Crossroad Corners Gang, apparently.”

“But…they’re Irish. Race is Italian, isn’t he?” 

“‘Higgins’ sound Italian to you?” Jack snorted, “His mother’s Italian. His daddy’s all Irish. Not that it matters none; their leader? Daniel Sheahan? He ain’t really named Daniel Sheahan from what’s I heard.” 

“What about his mother? Is she involved too?”

Jack shook his head. “Got typhus and died when Race was ten. ‘S the reason he left finally.” 

“So, when you say he was talking to Race about a job…?”

“Who da hell knows,” Jack said, sounding tired and angry, “Nothing good, that’s for sure.” 

They sat in tense silence, possibilities echoing in their thoughts. David bit his lip and tapped his fingers restlessly on the cheap table surface, trying to absorb all of that. “Why now?” 

Jack looked confused. “What?”

“Why now?” David asked, “I mean I’ve been here for what? Nine months? And no one’s mentioned him so I’ m assuming he hasn’t been around during that time. So, why now? What happened that made him crawl out of the woodwork?” 

Jack gave David one of those looks that said he was being obtuse. “He turned seventeen on the 7th, remember?” 

“Obviously,” David said, a little perturbed by Jack’s tone. He was there for the party same as everyone else. “What’s that got to do with anything?” 

“Davey,” Jack began, talking slowly and purposefully; David already felt stupid just hearing it, “He’s only got a year ‘fore he gets kicked outta the lodging house. Why’d you think no one older’n me was there? Think their ain’t people on da streets that’d live there if they could? You age out, so’s new kids can stay there. And being a newsie sure as hell ain’t gonna pay for an apartment in this city.” 

_I know that_ , David almost said reactively, but if he did it was only because he’d never given it much actual thought. It was one thing to be aware that there was a ticking clock on his friend’s safety and quite another to be confronted with the reality of what that meant. Apparently, for Race, that meant his low-life father thought he’d be desperate enough to accept a job doing whatever a gang like the Corners could come up with for a someone as smart as Race. 

“Did he say anything else?” 

“Race or his father?”

“Either.” 

“Said he told the old man to go ta hell, but he’s scared, Davey,” Jack said, “Could see it in ‘is eyes. Whole thing got ‘im thinking.” 

“What are his other options?” 

“With no money and no education?” Jack waved a hand dismissively. “Factory, probably. Not much else out there for a poor kid without someone fighting in his corner.”

David tried to picture Race in a factory job and failed. “He’d hate working in a factory. He’ll go crazy.” 

Jack made a ‘you got it’ gesture. “Why’s he’s scared. Even his father’s company’ll look decent after a few months of that.” 

“He’s got time,” David said, but even he knew his tone was unconvincing. Jack snorted indelicately. 

“Not that much time. Why’d you suppose gettin’ out seemed like a good idea ta me?” 

David didn’t know what he could say to that. And then it hit him. “Jesus, Jack, I didn’t even realize – you only have, what? A month?” 

Jack shrugged, seemingly unconcerned. “Got money saved up from what Pulitzer pays me; ‘nough to get a place that ain’t gonna give me a disease just looking at it. ‘Sides, it’s summer soon, could just’ sleep in the ‘penthouse’ for a couple months at first. Have even more saved, then.” 

David took the words at face value because he didn’t feel like getting into the argument that always arose when he tried to express how potentially dangerous that was. Discretion was the better part of valor, or so they said. “If you say so.” 

Jack gave him a wry look, as if he could hear every word David was pointedly not saying, and suddenly his discarded homework was stuck back in front of him where Jack had slid it. He tapped the paper gently, a half-smile playing at emerging on his face. 

“Finish your homework, Dave.” 

“Yes, sir,” David said with a salute. He picked up his pencil and found where he’d left off on the worksheet just as Elmer walked through the door and saddled up to the table, a puzzled look on his face. Beside him, Specs was giggling uncontrollably, and just behind both, Romeo was rubbing his reddened cheek and muttering to himself. Jack and David shared a commiserating look even before Elmer spoke. 

“Hey, Davey, what’s ‘lecherous cretin’ mean?” 

\- - - - - -

David wanted to say that he didn’t think about it much, but that would be a giant lie. He was a worrier, it was one of his least favorite traits about himself, but he couldn’t do much to help it; so, he worried. 

That worry coalesced into something close to panic when he arrived at the lodging house later than normal a few days afterward. His history teacher had given him detention after he’d “disrupted class with his poor attitude and insubordination”, stemming from an argument they’d gotten into about labor unrest. When he got there eventually, he saw Jack loitering around the side of the lodging house, arms crossed over his chest and posture stiff. 

“Jack!” 

He startled at David’s voice and whipped around; eyes wide as David approached him. 

“What – I thought you wasn’t coming today.” 

“Detention,” he explained, not liking the strange atmosphere hovering around, he stopped at Jack’s side, suddenly wary. “Jack, what’s –” 

“And who’s ‘dis?” 

Far too late, David realized that Jack wasn’t alone. He turned toward the crackling, unfamiliar voice and was met with appraising hazel eyes. The man was the same height as David, but his frame was altogether broader. There was a bowler hat pushed back on blonde curls and when he saw that he had David’s attention a large, jovial grin took over his face. David felt uneasy immediately, despite the pleasant expression. 

“Ain’t see you ‘fore,” the man mused, “You one ‘a Kloppman’s boys?” 

“No.”

The man’s eyebrows raised and the look in his eyes turned calculating. He did a slow sweep of David’s body and his gaze stuck on the copy of The Three Musketeers peeking out of his bag. When he looked back at David’s face there was something unreadable in his expression that David didn’t know how to respond to. 

“Youse goin’ to school?” 

“Yes.” 

He hummed idly. “Dat’s real admirable. Suppose youse still got a comfy ‘partment somewheres too, huh?” He reached up and rubbed David’s tie briefly, before Jack – whose silent disapproval David could almost feel like a physical presence – batted the older man’s hand down with enough force that David might have felt some sympathy for him if he hadn’t frozen completely the moment the man’s fingers had connected. 

“Don’t touch him,” Jack growled, taking a half a step forward so that a part of his body was angled between the stranger and David. 

The man whistled lowly. “Calm down, Kelly; I ain’t hurtin’ him,” then he leaned forward, though his voice was pitched perfectly for David to hear his next words; so he wasn’t exactly trying to hide anything, “Though, jus’ ‘tween you and me – yer punching a bit above yer weight class wit this one, ain’t ya? Street rat like you?”

David barely managed to grab Jack around the waist before he lashed out at the now laughing man. “Jack,” he pleaded, trying to keep a hold on the stronger man; pulling him back against him because he knew it would stop Jack from flailing too much. It worked and, panting, Jack stopped struggling enough that David slowly unwound his arm from the other teen’s body. 

“You okay?”

“Fine,” Jack bit out, smoothing down his vest in agitated sweeps of his hands. 

“Pale-skinned kid whose can get Jack Kelly to heel wit a single word? That must make you Davey Jacobs.” 

David blinked, confused. “What?” 

“Dat’s yer name, ain’t it?”

“How did you know that?” 

“Youse think I don’t got anybody watchin’ this place? Dat strike put all ‘a youse on da map, you know. Well, the frontrunners at least; Kelly and some new brat with clean clothes and pretty words named Davey.” 

David felt his face leech of any color that might have still been there from the implications behind the man’s earlier jabs. “Who _are_ you?” 

“What? Youse don’t recognize me? Always thought the kid took more after me den ‘is mother.” 

David looked at the face again, and there was something vaguely familiar in the shape of his eyes and jaw. The man smiled again, wiggling his eyebrows, and the sight of one dimple denting his cheek was what finally put the pieces together for him. 

“You’re Race’s father.” 

The man pulled his hat off and bowed in a big, exaggerated arc. “Morgan Higgins, at yer service.” 

David looked at Jack who nodded slightly, confirming, lips pressed tightly downward. David tried not to dwell on what Jack told him about Morgan during their talk at Jacobi’s; but it was practically impossible to dislodge the fear that came from the knowledge of being on a first name basis with a prominent member of the Crossroad Corners Gang. A couple of them roamed around David’s neighborhood; and his parents had always been quick to point out who so David and Sarah would know and keep Les from getting too near. 

“What do you want?” David asked, after the silence got to much for him to bear.

“What any father wants for ‘is son,” Morgan said, manic smile getting wider somehow, “to make sure ‘e’s got help. A place in da world. _Security_. But Kelly, here, well, he seems ta think dat he’s Tony’s keeper and won’t let ‘im talk to me.” 

“Maybe Race don’t want nothin ta do with you. You ever think a’ that, you smug son of a bitch?” Jack seethed. 

The smile slid off Morgan’s face and in it’s place a razor blade sharpness formed. “Watch yer fucking mouth. You think jus’ cause youse can make Joseph Pulitzer blink that you can come at me, too? Last I heard, Pulitzer still lived _in_ society; not under it. Not like me.” 

“You threatin’ me?” Jack took a step forward and David rushed to intercept him before it turned violent. 

“We aren’t keeping Race from you,” David said, only half-lying, because he and Jack would totally do that if either of them thought there was a chance in hell of Race letting them, “he has his own mind. If he wants to see you, he will. And if not…you’ll just have to accept that, too.” 

Morgan turned that disturbingly perceptive gaze over to David. Despite everything in him saying to look away, David locked his jaw and met the man’s eyes. Race was his friend. This was the lot he’d thrown in with there was nothing more to say; he could be brave for any of them if he needed to be. 

One slim fingered hand came up and pointed at David. The grin made a reappearance and David felt Jack go from tense to rigid. 

“Natural born peacemaker, ain’t cha? That’s good; don’t suppose youse lookin’ for something to do? Could use someone wit your skillset.” 

Jack stepped away from David and got right up in Morgan’s face, his body now completely between them. “You need to get outta here, ‘fore I lose my patience.” 

Morgan scoffed. “Didn’t know youse had any ta lose, Kelly.” 

“Fuck you.”

“Not really my type,” Morgan said with a laugh, then added in a completely faux casual tone, “Be sure ta tell Tony that I was checkin’ in on ‘im. Don’t want ‘im thinkin’ I ain’t paying attention.”

“Yeah, sure,” Jack lied without backing down at all. 

Morgan shook his head and then finally moved away from the lodging house. On the way, he stopped by David and gave him another once over. 

“I’se serious about that job. You’re smart enough to really go somewhere. Think about it.” 

“Yeah, sure,” David echoed Jack, who gave him an approving nod; a wry twist of reluctant humor to his lips. 

Morgan did a mocking little half-bow in Jack’s direction and then disappeared into the fading sunlight of the early evening. 

“So – that was Race’s father.” 

“He’s a real charmer, ain’t he?” Jack said with a disgusted look. 

He was, actually; that was the problem. David could see where the older man would be able to con others into believing him mostly benevolent. Especially those that didn’t live on the streets and have a good understanding of the politics that came with that. They’d see a handsome, somewhat roguish, man with an upbeat attitude who was quick to smile and joke. If you didn’t know any better; you could be half-way to screwed before it dawned that he was also a dishonest bastard. 

Sadly, David wondered if that was what had happened to Race’s mother. 

“We can’t let him get his claws into Race,” David said, mostly to himself. Jack answered anyway. 

“No shit,” he said, running a hand over his face, “but how’s are we gonna do that?” 

David had no idea. 

\- - - - - -

The lot next to _Floblum’s_ had been empty for years. David had a vague recollection of it being some kind of machinist’s place when he was kid and then, briefly, a pawn shop a couple of years ago. He and Les passed by it every afternoon walking from school and so for the past month he had noticed that the ‘for sale’ sign had disappeared from the window and that clearly some kind of work was being done to the place, but he hadn’t given it a much attention. Until he walked by and saw the Help Wanted sign tacked up in the same place the ‘for sale’ one had been. 

David stopped in front of it, reading the small list of positions available. Accountant, Experienced steelworkers, pipefitter, and on until he reached the last title and his mind caught on it. 

_Looking for: Engineering Apprentice(s); minimal experience accepted, must be proficient in mathematics, willing to do field work and take direction._

The thing about Race was that he was smart. Race himself didn’t think so, but David would argue that to anyone who would listen. Compared to most of the kids that worked – the factories and sweatshops and every other miserable corner of the city that employed kids too young to make decisions for themselves – newsies tended to be fairly well educated. They could read and write and knew basic arithmetic, which automatically gave them a leg up on a lot of the adults in the city. And when it came to mathematics and physics, Race was a natural. He did a lot of odd repair jobs for Kloppman because he was good at it; instinctively understanding how things worked or learning how quickly. He’d taken to surreptitiously stealing David’s textbooks and reading them while he helped Les with his homework or did his own. Once, when they had been in Brooklyn and one of Spot’s boys had tripped David for the hell of it, Race had returned the favor and then told him, _“that’s what we call an equal and opposite reaction; ‘s a law of nature, ya can’t escape it,”_ and grinned, laughing at the sputtering fallen youth. Spot had watched the whole thing, clearly caught between being completely done with them and the almost helplessly warm expression he always wore around Race. 

David didn’t know any other newsies who could quote Issac Newton. 

He tapped one finger against the bag-strap across his chest and stared at the advertisement thoughtfully. One of Race’s problems had always been that he was bored; a little crazy and a lot reckless, too, but fundamentally David had assumed – once he’d gotten to know the other teen – that part of the appeal of gambling and the elaborate card schemes had to do with not having a steady outlet for his intellect. Monotony was not Race’s friend and, unfortunately for all the newsies, there was a lot of it in their lives. 

David took a step back and looked up at the placard above the business: _Manhattan City Railroad Company_ was written there, painted a shining gold color and outlined in black with a set of decorative railroad tracks carved next to it. The name ticked off a memory of an article from a while ago about the proposals for a transportation system that ran underground and the companies who were competing to get the idea going after tentative approval from the city. It explained why they needed engineers and steel workers anyway. 

He stopped tapping and wrapped his hand around the band and took a deep breath. Race had come back to the lodging house on three separate occasions since his and Jack’s talk with Morgan looking as defeated as David had ever seen him. Jack’s shoulders got higher and tighter every time and David got more worried that one or both of them were about to do something stupid each time. 

“Davey, come on!” 

He looked over at where Les was impatiently hanging around outside of Floblum’s. He turned back to the sign and made a decision. He motioned for Les. “Come here.” 

“What are you waiting for?” Les asked as he ran back to David’s side, perturbed look scrunching up his face. 

“Here,” David pulled some coins out of his pocket and shoved them into Les’ hands, “get the usual and take it to the lodging house okay? And when Jack gets there, tell him that he’s coming over for dinner tonight – no excuses.” 

“What about you?” Les asked, suspicious, but holding the money against his chest protectively nonetheless. 

David took a step back towards the door of the company, shoring up his resolve. “I’ve got something to take care of first.” He shooed a reluctant Les over to _Floblum’s_ and took a deep breath. 

“Here goes nothing,” he muttered and then walked through the door. 

By the time he got home a couple of hours later, he was practically vibrating out of his skin. The notes he’d taken and papers Mr. Westfield had given him burning a hole in his pocket. The middle-aged man had been skeptical, but he’d also said that he was sick of the college kids that came in thinking they knew everything already and that he _“knew a thing or two about growing up poor and if the kid was half as smart as David was gushing then he’d be a fool not to at least talk to the him”_. 

He was pacing a hole in the living room while Sarah watched him, a combination of worried and amused, when Les burst through the door an hour or so later. He saw Les dart past into the kitchen where his mother and father were and a second later, Jack appeared in the entranceway of the living room a resigned expression covering his face. He noticed David watching him, pulled his hat off and sighed. 

“You summoned me, yer majesty?” He said wryly, walking into the room, nodding at Sarah, before looking back at David. 

“I didn’t summon you,” David defended automatically, a blush heating up his face. 

“Well, I’m here, ain’t I? I assumes there’s a reason you put your foot down about ‘dis now?” Jack questioned.

“It’s about Race.”

Jack’s expression darkened briefly, but his tone was curious. “Really?” 

“Really. But I wanted to talk to you about it, without any of the others underfoot.” 

“Alright,” he nodded and then turned a wide grin at Sarah who was looking less worried and more entertained than she had any right to, “Sarah, it’s good ta see you again.” 

“Likewise,” Sarah said, standing up just as their mother announced that dinner was ready, “It’ll be nice for our parents to put a face to the name, finally.” 

Jack went pale at that and David hurried to reassure him. “Jack, it’s fine. They’ll love you.” 

“How could they not, right?” Jack answered with a weak laugh, obviously unconvinced. 

Esther and Mayer did, in fact, take to Jack almost immediately. Asking genuine questions without prying and backing off if Jack looked uncomfortable. Mayer congratulated him on the success of the strike and Esther thanked him for keeping an eye out for David and Les in the beginning. Jack spent the meal fluctuating between being his usual charming self and downplaying his discomfort by brushing off the compliments – and in some places, pushing them onto David instead – which actually made him appear even more charming. Even Sarah was impressed by the time they were cleaning up the debris of the dinner. 

Sarah ruffled his hair on her way out, laughing at the indignant noise he couldn’t suppress. Les gave Jack a quick hug on his way to the sitting room where the homework he had neglected waited because David hadn’t been there to make him do it earlier; along with their parents. It left the two of them at the table alone but for the muffled talking that could be heard from the rest of the apartment. 

“So,” Jack said, leaning back in his chair, frame much more relaxed then when he’d shown up initially, “what did you want ta ask me?” 

“Okay, hear me out before you say anything,” David lead with. It got him a raised brow from Jack who made a ‘go on’ gesture with his hand. “So, Les and I pass by this place everyday and today I noticed a sign in the window with all these positions they need filled. And I saw one that I though might be good for Race.” 

Jack looked intrigued. “Yeah? What’s the place?” 

David stood up to fish the papers out of his pocket and then smoothed them down on the table, pulling his chair over so that he and Jack could look at them at the same time. “The Manhattan City Railroad Company; they’re one of the ones who got a bid accepted to start building the underground transportation system in the city – trains that take you anywhere you want without cluttering up the streets. It’s a fairly new company, but they’ve got grants from the city and approval from the state to do it.” 

Jack slowly shifted through the papers, landing on David’s handwritten notes. He read through them, eyes widening as he went. When he’d finished, he turned to David with a troubled look. 

“I don’t know, Davey,” he started, “This seems…”

“…like a lot, I know. But it’s just for an apprenticeship; you’re not supposed to be an expert or anything. It’s about learning and figuring out the trade. And it pays; not a lot at first, of course, but better than any starting pay at a factory.” 

“But engineer? Ain’t you got ta have a lot a school for that?” 

“Normally, yes,” David said reluctantly and cut Jack off before he could say anything else, “But I talked to the lead, his name’s Frank Westfield, and he said he wouldn’t mind having someone with a little more adaptability and less ‘bad training’, his words, not mine.” 

“Davey –” 

“Look,” he found the list of things the apprentice would be expected to do and learn, “do any of those things seem out of Race’s wheelhouse? He loves getting his hands dirty, and he already knows how a lot of this stuff works practically, if not technically. He’s great with numbers and complex arithmetic. He picks things up quick. And you know he’s a hard worker. When he wants to be, anyway.” 

Jack studied the list for a few moments. “Huh.”

“What do you think? Honestly?” 

“If it worked out, it’d be amazin’,” Jack said finally. “And this guy, he knows that Race ain’t got no formal education?”

“Yeah,” David said, “I told him. He wanted to know if he could read and write, but the other subjects besides mathematics didn’t matter much to him. Which, you know, makes sense. What’s knowing the battles of the Revolutionary War going to do for him in engineering?” 

“Makes sense,” Jack murmured.

“And Race? Do you think he’d at least listen if we showed it too him? I told Westfield his name and he said that Race could stop by whenever. But it’d probably have to be soon.” 

“No kidding. Good jobs don’t stay open forever,” Jack looked over at David and smiled, something akin to hope buried in his eyes, “We can talk to him together; tomorrow if you want.” 

“You’re sure? You think this could work? You’re not just humoring me, are you?” 

“Dave,” Jack said, voice solemn, “It’s a great idea.” 

David grinned back, some of the weight from the last week melting off his back. “Good. Because this was really starting to get to me. I haven’t slept well in days; keep thinking about Morgan making Race some offer he didn’t think he could turn down.” 

Jack shook his head. “Don’t speak too soon. You’ll jinx da whole thing.” He stopped and stared at David though, eyes intense and the planes of his face softened, almost unbearably so. “You didn’t have ta do this, you know.” 

David shrugged, fingers drumming restlessly on the table in the wake of having that look thrown at him. “I kind of did, though. I mean, this is what I signed up for, isn’t it? And Race deserves better than being stuck with two unbearable options. They all do. If I can help that, I will.” 

Without warning, one callused thumb lifted up and brushed along David’s jawline; so lightly that he could almost imagine that it didn’t happen; and when Jack answered, it was soft enough that it came out just above a rough whisper, “You’re somethin’ else, you know that? Jus’ when I think I got you figured…” 

David’s fingers stilled as his skin went hot from the feathery touch and he had to swallow down the turbulent feeling bubbling in his throat. The way Jack was looking at him – no one had ever looked at him like that. He didn’t even know what word to use to describe it. It made him feel useless in his own body, barely able to breath. 

“Jack –” 

“Everything alright in here, it’s gotten awful quiet,” Esther walked into the kitchen and stopped when she saw the tableau they were presenting. “Boys?”

They both registered how close they were at the same time – David could make out all the swirl of colors in Jack’s eyes and feel the push of his breath on his face – and sprung apart. Jack stood up, face red and panicked. David didn’t imagine he looked much better. He certainly felt untethered to reality. “It’s fine, Ma. We were just finishing up.” His voice was a barely understandable croak.

Esther’s face was blank, but she spoke with a tone not nearly as devoid of emotion as her expression. “Probably for the best. It’s getting late.” 

“Right,” Jack winced; he scraped the chair backwards, almost toppling it over in his haste to get away. “Davey, I’ll see you tomorrow and we’ll talk to Race, okay?”

“Of course. I’ll bring all this,” David said gesturing to the still spread out paperwork. 

“Goodnight, Mrs. Jacobs. And thank you for dinner,” Jack said, his normally confident voice was shot to hell; wavering uncertainly. 

“You’re welcome,” Esther said politely. 

Jack looked at him. “’Night, Davey.”

“’Night, Jack. Stay safe.” 

Jack offered him a sorry looking half-smile and then he was gone. David didn’t breathe again until he heard the click of the front door shutting. He busied himself with gathering up the papers; the atmosphere in the room as thick and frozen as a block of ice.

“David.” 

“I’m tired, Ma. Can it wait?” 

“David,” she said, ignoring him totally, “maybe you should spend some time…away from the lodging house for a little while.” 

David stopped moving. “Away. Why?”

Esther took a step forward. “I just think it might be better for you.” 

“Better,” David repeated, the word almost disintegrating in his mouth. He looked at his mother’s careful expression, heart picking up speed. “Better for who?” 

“David,” and he was already sick of hearing his name said in that tone of voice, “If that boy –”

“That boy. You mean Jack. The one you just fed and thanked for looking after us. That boy?”

“Darling, I don’t…he seems like a good boy, but –” 

David stood up, picking up the paperwork and very carefully tucking his and Jack’s chairs into the table, not meeting his mother’s eyes. “I’m going to bed. I’ll probably be home late tomorrow; Jack and I have to talk to one of the boys about something.” 

“David,” his mother’s tone pleaded, “I don’t mean to –” 

“Goodnight, Ma.” 

He walked past his mother’s still form and immediately went to the room he shared with Les. After he shut the door, he closed his eyes and leaned back against the solid wood. He forcibly pushed down the strangled sob in his throat and fought to stop the trembling that had worked its way through his body the minute he’d left his mother’s unspoken assumptions in the kitchen. 

“David?” Les’ sleepy voice called and David took a shaky breath. 

“Go to sleep, Les.” 

“Okay,” Les said and rolled over to do just that. 

_I can’t think about this now_ , he thought, shedding layers to climb in the other bed. _There are more important things going on then whether Jack and I – then whether –_ he dug the palm of his hands into his eyes and told himself to breath. 

Sleep was a long time coming that night. 

\- - - - - -

David spent most of the next school day yawning into his hand and trying to stay awake. The upside of that battle was that he didn’t have a lot of extra time to worry about seeing Jack again or presenting his idea to Race. It wasn’t until he was standing outside the lodging house that it flooded back to him. Les had run ahead and was probably upstairs making enough noise that Jack would know that he was there too. 

_Okay, one foot in front of the other._ His body refused to move. _Oh, for – you helped organize a strike and yelled at Joseph Pulitzer, you can walk into a damned lodging house, Jacobs, get over it._

Clearly, he was better at giving pep-talks than receiving them.

“Davey?” 

Jack’s voice startled him out of his internal fighting, and he looked up to see the other teen leaning in the doorway, his face basically an unreadable shadow. 

“Jack.” 

They stared at one another for a minute. Jack shifted on his feet, then stuck his hands in his pockets. “You, uh, you gonna come in, or stay out ‘ere all night?” 

“In, obviously. I’ll just, uh, come in then?” David resisted the urge to smack himself in the face. 

Jack chuckled and took a step aside. “Well, come on. I got Racer to park it in the meetin’ room down the hall. So’s it’ll just be us and him.” 

“Probably for the best,” David mumbled. Jack’s expression wavered at the words and then blanked out. David didn’t even try to figure out what he’d said wrong, just took a step forward and eased around Jack’s form. 

The meeting room on the first floor wasn’t all that big, but it was the only room in the lodging house that had the illusion of comfort to it. There was a desk pushed to one side, a round table in the middle with four decent sized chairs around it. David didn’t have a clue what the room was actually used for.

Race was sitting in one of the chairs, feet propped up on the table and rolling a pair of dice between his fingers as he waited. He dropped his legs down when Jack and David came into the room, face open and curious. “So, what’s the big deal? Why’s I gotta be down here waitin’ on you two?”

David glanced at Jack who made an ‘after you’ arm sweep. “Was your idea, Davey.” 

“Okay, well,” he cleared his throat and sat down in the chair opposite Race, then held the information out to him (he may or may not have used the time in his English class to consolidate some of the notes into something a little more manageable; they were reading _Great Expectations_ , sue him for not paying attention), “here.” 

Race took the notes; expression falling into bemusement. “What’s this?” 

“It’s, uh, it’s a job.” 

Race tensed. “Davey –” 

“Just read it. Please,” he added, keeping his voice firm. Race’s eyes bounced between him and Jack, who had taken a position of holding up the wall next to the door. 

“Fine,” the blond muttered and settled down to read. Fifteen minutes later, Race sat back and stared at the papers incredulously. 

“Engineerin’? Seriously?” He looked at David, eyes wide. “Davey, this is…I can’t do this.” 

“Why not?” 

“I ain’t been to school since I was _ten_ ,” Race stressed, “you can’t actually think that I could be an engineer? That’s for guys like you – or someone who’s gonna go ta college.”

“Race you haven’t been to school since you were ten and you understand the arithmetic that I’m doing now. Probably better than I do. You read my textbooks for fun. Don’t argue, I’ve literally _seen_ you reading the damn things.”

“That ain’t true,” Race tried to lie anyway. 

“Race. My teacher fined me two cents when I traded it in for my new one because it had the answers written in it. The _correct_ answers.” 

Race blushed a little, which in of itself was a miracle because Race didn’t blush about anything. He scratched at the back of his neck. “Sorry ‘bout that.” 

“It doesn’t matter,” Davey said, waving away the apology, “The point is that yes, you can do this.” 

“You actually believe that?”

“Yes. I do,” David said, booking no room for argument. 

“We do,” Jack pipped up, stepping up to the table. “Race, this could change your whole life. _Your whole life_.” 

Race gazed down at the documents for a minute, hands twitching, before he abruptly stood up and began to pace around the confined space; his thin frame telegraphing his anxiety. “What about my – what about Morgan?”

“Fuck him,” Jack said viciously. 

Race let out a reedy laugh at that. “Ain’t exactly that easy.” 

“It could be,” David answered. 

“It really ain’t.” 

“Race, this is your chance,” Jack entreated, “You wouldn’t have to worry ‘bout him or his friends tryin’ to mess with you. You’d have money and a way outta this,” he waved around the lodging house, as if to encompass their entire existence. 

“Yeah, well, what’s it matter ta you?” Race shot back, stilling long enough to turn his agitated expression on Jack. “You’re gonna be gone ‘in a month or two anyhow; none ‘o this is gonna be your problem no more.”

Jack reared back as if Race had slapped him. “What the hell is that supposed ta mean?” 

“You got your ‘out’ already. You can leave and forget ‘bout this place.” 

“I ain’t leavin’ nobody. What the fuck, Racetrack?” 

The two stared at one another furiously, before Race’s anger broke and was replaced with a bleak look; he collapsed back into his chair and ducked his head into his hands, digging his fingers into his curls. “I don’t know, I jus’ don’t know what ta do.” 

“We want what’s best for you,” David said softly, “That’s all. And we think this could be it.” 

Race took a couple ragged breaths. “I know.”

“Do you? Look, Race, I know your father is complicated, but think about it this way: whatever he wants you to do, whatever he wants to get you involved with; do you actually want to? Do you think he’s asking with your best interests at heart?”

“You think Antonietta would want you ta fall into his bullshit?” Jack came back with and Race whipped his head up to face Jack; shocked. 

“That’s low, Kelly,” he said, sounding wounded. 

“Tough,” Jack said, some of the iron will he cultivated and used so effectively during the strike peeking through, “she ain’t here to kick your ass, so I’m doin’ it for her.” 

Race frowned, the beginning of tear shine in his blue eyes, but there was a different quality to his tension now. He looked back at David, who tried to smile encouragingly at him. 

“If that doesn’t do the trick, I could always tell Spot about it. I don’t think there’s a place in New York that you can hide from him. And then _he’ll_ kick your ass.”

Race snorted out a laugh and then subtly tried to wipe at his eyes. Giving him a little privacy, David looked up at Jack and knocked his knuckles against the other teen’s arm. Jack glanced down, confused, but seemed to involuntarily relax his stance noticeably. David gave him a clap of assurance and turned back to Race who was staring at the two of them with a little smirk that was still a bit watery around the edges. 

“So, uh,” Race cleared his throat, voice cracking, “where is this place I gotta go ta, anyways?”

David beamed at him and grabbed one of the half-used papers in front of Race. “I’ll write down the address. The nameplate’s pretty big; you shouldn’t miss it.” 

“And ‘e’s expectin’ me?” 

“I told him too,” David said writing clearly, “he said any time after seven is good.” 

“I’ll come wit you, if you want,” Jack said. 

Race nodded sheepishly. “Thanks, Jack.” He hesitated a moment and then continued. “And I – you know I didn’t mean that stuff I said ‘fore, right? I don’t think you was gonna up and leave.” 

Jack shrugged, uncomfortable. “It’s fine, Race. I get it.” 

Race carefully tucked the paper with the address into his pocket and mumbled something about trying to get ready for the next day and offered both of them one last unsure smile before he left. 

Which meant that David was alone. With Jack. 

“I should probably get Les and go home,” David said, cutting through the dense silence that surrounded them. 

“If you have too,” Jack answered, one hand curled into a fist and then released, resting on the surface of the table. Neither of them seemed prepared to look at the other. 

“I’ll be here tomorrow; see how it went,” he continued, then stopped, hesitant; as if he was standing on wet rocks trying to keep his balance. His mother’s words hung rotten in the air between them.

“We’ll be here.” 

“Right,” David stood up and Jack took a step back immediately. Irrationally, David felt a stab of hurt at the action. “I’ll just…go, then.” 

He got halfway to the door before Jack’s voice stopped him. The steel tone he’d used with Race had rusted and fallen apart to reveal a much more uncertain underbelly. 

“Davey,” he faltered for a moment and then marched on, “we’re…we’re okay, ain’t we? I mean you – you’re important, you know? I don’t want to think I messed that up over nothin’.” 

David closed his eyes, pushing the almost crushing disappointment to the back of his mind. It hadn’t occurred to him until just now exactly how much he wanted that answer to be different. To even have a sliver of hope that…but, no. He needed Jack in his life; he knew that much, so if this was how he got that, then so be it. It wasn’t Jack’s fault that he didn’t or couldn’t feel the same way. That David had read too much into Jack's more affectionate gestures of friendship. 

“Of course, Jack,” he threw the best look of confused fondness he could muster over his shoulder, where Jack was watching him, frown pulling down the corners of his mouth, “why wouldn’t we be?” 

He left before Jack could come up with an answer to that. 

(The next day, David stepped into the bunk room of the lodging house and was attacked by a delighted blond within seconds. Race practically tackled him from the force of throwing himself into David’s arms. David laughed openly, realizing that the noise he’d heard when he’d walked in the door earlier was actually raucous cheering. Someone – probably Albert or Romeo – had snuck in some booze and the older kids were all pretty tipsy, while the younger kids were having a blast with their liquor-induced, goofy older counterparts. In one corner, sitting on an upended wooden barrel and looking like a king, was Spot, who raised a cup of who-knew-what to David in solidarity. 

“It went well, I take it?” he asked the excited bundle hanging off of him. 

Race beamed. “He’s givin’ me a chance; said ‘e was impressed by how good I was at da equations and such. And that at least I wasn’t ‘fraid ‘bout all da hands on aspects.”

“That’s great, Race. I knew you’d get it,” David said, relieved beyond measure. 

Race squeezed him harder for a second. “I ever say how lucky we is that you showed up?”

“Okay, now I know you’re drunk,” David said, touched despite himself at the genuine sentiment. 

“Spot’s right; yer too good for ‘im,” Race mumbled incoherently and then leaned over and smacked a loud kiss on David’s cheek. “You da best, Davey.” 

“Alright, get out of here. Go,” he waved Race away, who laughed again and gave him a sloppy salute before being roped into some kind of game that David was fairly certain Romeo had made up on the spot. 

As he always did, and against his better judgement, David gravitated to where Jack was reclining on one of the bunks, feet up, vest missing and far too many buttons undone for David’s continued sanity. The other teen grinned up at him when he sat down on the bunk beside his. 

“You did good, Davey,” Jack said, accent thicker and slower than normal. He handed a filled cup over. “You deserve a drink.”

 _I do if I’m going to have to see you look like that for the rest of the night_ , he thought, saying his ‘thanks’ out loud and taking a decent gulp. He sputtered immediately, which made Jack start cackling. 

“Jesus, what is this?” 

“Who knows? It’s alcohol.” 

“Medicinal, maybe,” David muttered, taking another, much smaller, sip. 

Jack rolled his eyes. “Relax, Davey. It’s been a good day.” 

His mind was turning to mush from studying for all the exams that were coming up soon at school, his heart ached and his mother hadn’t really looked him in the eye since that night in the kitchen, but watching Race bounce around the room, carefree and acting like his old self for the first time in a month; David could almost believe it. 

“To new opportunities,” he raised his glass; not quite able to meet Jack's eyes and cursing himself for a coward the whole time. 

Jack clinked his against David’s. “Ta new opportunities.” 

They drank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) The Crossroads Corners Gang is actually based off the real life [Five Points Gang](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Five_Points_Gang). It was a primarily Irish (so it advertised; in reality it was pretty multi-national) gang that operated in NYC at the turn of the century and was a precursor to the mafia/mob. It was started and run by a guy who went by Paul Kelly, but whose really name was Paolo Vaccarelli. A lot of really famous mobsters got their start there. I imagine they were terrifying. 
> 
> 2) The Manhattan City Railroad Company is based on a combination of [two companies](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/History_of_the_New_York_City_Subway); the BRT (later called the BMT) and the IRT. They were two of the earliest involved with the building of the subway system in Manhattan and Brooklyn. The subways itself didn't open until either 1901 or 1904 (over ground rail was much older), but permits and building was going on in 1900. 
> 
> 3) The World's Fair did happen in 1900 in Paris, though it was called the [Exposition Universelle](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Exposition_Universelle_\(1900\)). 
> 
> 4) I apologize to engineering students. I don't mean to belittle college education (I'm a college grad myself) and especially engineering majors; as far as I'm concerned that shit is impossible so you guys deserve a standing ovation. But I know hiring, education and experience practices in 1900 were a lot different then they are now. So, assume Race is a prodigy and go with it. 
> 
> 5) When I was a kid, I always wondered why we assumed Race was Italian b/c Higgins is really not Italian. (When I was a teenager it dawned on that it was because Max Casella is, you know, Italian. So. I got it eventually.) But I still wondered about the last name and decided to give him an Irish-American father and an Italian mother and he just tells everyone he's full Italian-American because his mom was awesome and his dad...not so much.


	4. iv. and i don't know (is this the part where you let go?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, this chapter kicked my ass. Seriously. I wrote the first scene and then stared at a blinking cursor for the next four and a half days. And I'm still not satisfied with it. 😩 I rushed the editing and whatnot, so if there are more mistakes then normal, I apologize. 
> 
> As always: all my thanks to those who read, kudosed and commented. You guys make my day, really. 
> 
> (And it is still Wednesday on the west coast so, I'm counting it.)
> 
> Chapter title from _The Part Where You Let Go_ by Hem.

Jack watched Les watch the girl.

They were waiting for Davey, who was inside the bookseller’s, and Les’ gaze hadn’t wavered since he’d spotted her. She was set up across the street, faded blue dress a little tattered, but clean and an open basket filled with a riot of colorful blooms looped around one arm, and hawking a bright yellow rose in the other. She was probably about Les’ age, but even with the distance Jack could tell that she was a couple of inches taller than the younger, former newsie; her blond hair was pinned up and she hadn’t stopped smiling the whole time. Les looked like he’d seen an angel. 

Jack manfully resisted the temptation to start snickering at his dumbfounded expression. 

“What are you grinning about?”

Jack turned to face Davey, put a finger over his mouth and pointed at Les. Davey slid his eyes over to his brother; after a short assessment of the scene, he looked back at Jack. 

“The flower girl?”

Jack nodded and an amused grin tipped Davey’s lips upward. He tucked the book he’d bought into his bag and snuck behind Les, who was so focused that he completely missed Davey’s return. Once he was standing beside him, Davey leaned down and spoke directly into his ear, tone curious, “What’cha looking at?”

Les startled so badly that he tripped on his own feet, pinwheeled for a moment and then fell over backwards in an ungraceful heap. Davey looked so satisfied with himself and Les so furiously wronged that Jack lost his battle with containment and burst out laughing.

Les scrambled to his feet, took his hat off and smacked a beaming Davey with it, then turned his glare over to Jack. “It’s not funny!”

“It really is,” Davey answered for Jack.

“Argh!” Les screeched and started marching down the sidewalk without looking at either of them; though he made sure to bump into Davey and elbow Jack in the side as he passed by. 

“God, ‘e’s such a little shit,” Jack said, holding an arm across his now tender ribs. 

“Always has been,” Davey rolled his eyes and began to follow his brother. 

Jack shook his head, about to go after the Jacobs siblings, but on a whim, he turned to look back at Les’ flower girl and noticed that she had stopped smiling for a moment and was watching Les disappear into the throng of bustling New Yorkers, clutching her flowers to her chest. _Interesting_ , he thought and grinned before running to catch up to Davey’s long strides. 

\- - - - - -

The thing was, well, Jack needed a distraction. 

His birthday was next week, which meant that he really needed to start looking for someplace to stay – even Crutchie gave him the stink eye when he mentioned maybe staying in the penthouse on a more permanent basis for a while – because Kloppman always let them have a bit of a grace period after they’d aged out, but it was better to be ready to get out while the getting was good. Race was gone for half a day everyday – easing into his internship – which left Jack to delegate more responsibility to Specs. Not that Specs couldn’t handle it, he definitely could and with an easy, unflappable acceptance that Jack wasn’t sure he’d ever had; but it was an adjustment for both of them nonetheless. Pulitzer had actually given him a raise and instead of just the biweekly cartoons, he also had to do some kind of spread for their weekend editions; taking up more of the time he normally reserved for literally anything else. 

And then there was The Thing With Davey. 

(It was capitalized in his head mainly because when Kath had called it that, the capitalization had practically been visible in her voice. So. Now it was The Thing With Davey.)

On the surface, not a lot had changed. Davey still came ‘round after school; he still laughed at Jack’s stupid jokes and rolled his eyes when he did something dumb, still did all the things he’d done before. But there were hints. Touching became something of a distant memory; he never shrugged off the arm Jack threw around his shoulders or pulled away from the claps he gave him; but sometimes – when he didn’t see it coming – he flinched. He didn’t even realize how much he actually touched Davey until the finger tug he did sometimes on Davey’s vest to get his attention was met with an instinctive move away. Or that a hand on his back, guiding him toward something, made Davey go stock-still for a moment before he took a step just large enough for Jack’s fingers to touch only air. And he almost never initiated anything, either. All those little, reassuring gestures; hell, just soaking up the warmth from Davey’s body when they stood next to each other was a fading dream. 

He didn’t know which was worse; not being touched or having to sit on his hands to keep from touching. Jack had always been a tactile guy, and he’d basically made it a point to invade Davey’s space practically from minute one of their meeting, so the whole thing was draining. 

Most of the boys hadn’t noticed anything yet. The younger ones were completely unaware and so far only Crutchie had started to give them both strange looks from the older crowd. Race would’ve been on his back about it if he’d been more present and less tired (happy, but exhausted) when he was. That was kind of a blessing in disguise; having to put up with Crutchie’s increasing confusion and Race’s much less diplomatic interrogations at the same time would be torture. 

Worst of all, Jack couldn’t even pretend not to know what was behind their sudden awkwardness. 

_Stupid, stupid, stupid_ , Jack thought bitterly, even as he watched Davey get knocked off balance by Rambler’s overly enthusiastic greeting, and that throat closing feeling of affection threatened to overwhelm him. He tried – very hard – not to pay attention to Morgan Higgin’s voice in his head telling him that he was punching above his weight class. Or think about the way Davey’s eyes had sharpened and his breath caught when Jack had touched him in the kitchen. _And what about that look his mother gave you, huh? Like she wasn’t sure whether to stay still or grab Davey and run. Remember that?_ Jack felt his hands fold into fists involuntarily. 

So. A distraction. 

With more effort than he wanted to admit, Jack tore his eyes from Davey’s back and walked over to where Les had parked himself on one of the bunks, arms crossed and still clearly pissed about what had happened earlier. 

“Shove over.” 

Les looked up at Jack as disdainfully as a someone that small could. “No.”

“Yeah, that’s not gonna work,” Jack scoffed and ignored Les’ indignant cry as he pushed the kid around until he could sit on the bed with one leg up and one planted on the floor. Les glared at him a little, but only pushed back briefly before giving it up as impossible with a huff. “You still sore about ealier?”

Les looked down at his hands. “No,” he lied. 

“Okay, well, you know your brother didn’t mean nothin’ by it,” Jack began, “We was just teasin’ ya.” 

“I know,” Les said and then looked at Jack, a forlorn expression on his face, “but did you have to do it in front of Cecilia?” 

“Cecilia,” Jack said, “Huh. Didn’t think you actually knew ‘er.” 

“She’s in my class,” The younger Jacobs admitted, “I mean, when she can go, anyway. She helps out her parents at their flower shop sometimes.” 

“You friends?”

Les snorted and began pulling absently at a loose thread on the mattress, refusing to look at Jack. “No.”

“Why not?” 

“She’s the nicest girl in school,” Les said slowly, tone heavily implying that Jack was stupid for even asking, “And the prettiest.”

“So?”

“ _So_ ,” Les stressed and finally looked over at Jack, rolling his eyes the whole way, “She’s gots lotsa friends. She don’t need me.”

“But you like ‘er?” 

Jack was going to get a complex with the amount of sheer non-verbal ‘no shit’ looks Les was giving him. “Obviously.” 

“Obviously.”

“And now she’s gonna think I’m stupid,” Les muttered. 

“Hey, come on, that’s not true.” 

Les looked mutinous. “ _You_ laughed.” 

Jack faltered at that. “Uh, well, I mean – look, that’s me and Davey, right? Older brother privileges and all that. Don’t mean she’s gonna think you’re stupid – or that she even saw ya fall. Maybe she’s got siblings too and can sympathize.” 

Les’ face went through a series of emotions – confusion, surprise – before smoothing back into a doubtful hesitance. “She’s got an older sister; she’s a year younger than Davey.”

Jack knocked his shoulder against Les’. “There, see? She’s probably used ta that kinda stuff, too. Probably felt bad for ya.”

“Maybe,” Les muttered. 

“ _Probably_ ,” Jack said, then added in as casual a tone as he could, “Course, she also probably wasn’t so impressed with that tantrum after da fact. She was watching ya walk away, you know.” 

Les stopped fidgeting and swung his head around to stare at Jack incredulously. “What? Really?”

Jack shrugged, but didn’t bother to hide his grin. “Really.” 

“But – what do I do?” 

Jack laughed. “Talk to her, you goof.” 

“I can’t talk to her, are you crazy?” Les hissed, hands coming up to white knuckle his knees.

“What? Why? You talk to people all da time.”

“Cecilia ain’t _people_.”

Jack whistled lowly. “Wow, kid. That is some torch you’re carryin’. Might want to keep the fire away so’s you don’t burn yourself.” 

“Oh, shut up,” Les said, elbowing Jack for the second time that day, even as a furious blush swept across his scowling face, “you don’t get it. You don’t even have to _try_ and girls jus’ fall over themselves.”

 _Right_ , Jack thought, trying not to let Les’ bitter tone dig into him, _well, your brother ain’t a girl and apparently, I can’t talk ta him for shit, so ya see? We all got our problems_. He sighed and slung an arm around the younger boy’s shoulders. 

“Well, it wasn’t always easy for me ta talk to girls. Used to be a short, scrawny brat who talked to much and got his ass kicked for it. So, here’s what I’m gonna do: I’ll help ya talk to your girl, okay? What’da say?”

“Really? You’ll help?” Les asked, tentative. 

“Sure,” Jack said, “how hard can it be?” 

\- - - - - -

“What on earth are you doing?” 

Jack looked up and met Davey’s confused eyes. “What’s it look like we’re doing?”

“Stalking, mostly.” 

“We’re on a fact finding mission,” Les answered from where he was peering around the corner of the alleyway, diligently watching as Cecilia chatted amiably with the fruit vendors of the market. 

“A fact finding mission,” Davey said slowly, as if testing out the words on his tongue; his tone was unfairly mystified as far as Jack was concerned, “So, you’re spying on that poor girl.” 

“It’s not spying,” Jack began, but Davey almost immediately cut him off.

“How long have you been doing this?” 

“We’ve been following her since Wallace Street,” Les said absently. 

Davey’s expression went flat and unimpressed. “So, stalking.” 

“Okay, can we just –” Jack grabbed Davey’s arm, ignoring the bubble of hurt that popped up when Davey’s first reaction was to tug away from him. He kept hold and dragged the other teen a few steps away. “—talk about this. It’s not that bad.” 

Davey narrowed his eyes. “You’re creeping around because why exactly?” 

“Les has a crush on her.” 

“And?” 

“And, so, he don’t know what ta do about it. He’s too nervous ta just go up and talk to her, so I’se thought it’d be best if we found out something she liked. Or whatever. Something he could talk ta her about; that she would be interested in.” 

“By following her around. Creepily.” 

Jack groaned. “Les won’t talk to her and _I’m_ not going too. Hell of a lot creepier if I do; so here we are.” 

Davey ran a hand down his face. “Well, you’re not wrong about that. Fine. Just today?” 

“One day, that’s all. I promise.” 

Davey looked at him, but most of the wariness had left his body; leaving him in his normal loosely curious stance. “He really likes her, huh? After one day?”

“She goes to school wit him, apparently.” 

Davey’s brows flew up his forehead. “Really?”

“Said her sister was close ta your age.” 

Davey’s eyes went glassy – something they did regularly whenever he retreated inside his head to think – and then a grimace crossed his face. “The Hewitt’s right? Georgia and…Cythnia?”

“Cecilia.”

“Right,” Davey sighed, “and you’re…helping him.”

Jack didn’t really like the look on Davey’s face, even if he couldn’t tell exactly what it was trying to say. “Yes? I want ‘im to be happy and I’m good at talkin’ to girls. So, I thought I could. Help, I mean.” 

Davey’s expression went frighteningly blank for a moment of two and Jack hurridly backpedaled. “I don’t mean ta overstep; your ‘is brother, not me, so if…I mean if that’s not okay wit you…”

Davey’s face whipped through several emotions before he laughed; a shallow, half-formed thing that sounded wrong coming out of his mouth. “No. No, it’s fine. It’s not like I can give him any advice about any of that, right?” 

Jack bit his tongue and tried not to blurt out his first response to that which was something like _probably not; far as I can tell you got the most in common wit the girl we’re following, what with you being oblivious and impossible ta talk too even though you’re **standing right here in front of me**. Glad we got that sorted out_. Instead, he frowned and shook his head. “Dave, come on.” 

Davey’s body held its newly rigid position for another few, heavy seconds before his shoulders released and the tension melted out of his frame. He gave Jack a sheepish smile. “Sorry; I didn’t mean to make it sound so tragic. And you are, you know.”

“I’m what?” 

Davey rolled his eyes. “His brother. Not by blood maybe, but hell, that’s kind of the whole newsies thing isn’t it? Brotherhood and all?” 

Jack swallowed with difficulty, some of the air aching where it was trapped in his lungs. He should really breathe. Soon. “If that’s…sure, I guess.” 

It was different for him and the boys. Not having a family to go home too, barely having a home at all, it made you grow roots in unexpected places with unexpected people. But the Jacobs didn’t have that kind of uncertainty tainting their idea of belonging. It probably didn’t mean much to Davey, saying something he saw as truth and not a particularly new or scandalous one either, but to Jack whose last real memory of familial love was his mother leaving and his father’s violent, oppressive disgust, it kind of felt like Davey was offering him a banquet. The remnants of that terrible panic he’d had when it occurred to him at Kath’s that Davey might leave soaking in around his consciousness. 

Oblivious, Davey’s smile solidified and got bigger. He reached out and batted Jack’s cap down into his eyes playfully. It gave Jack the minute he needed to get his emotions under control, tugging the cap back into place and giving Davey a less-than-pleased look for it. His answering laugh this time was more natural than earlier too. 

“Come on,” Davey said, turning back to watch Les strain his ability to fit behind the stacked crates where he was hiding, “Let’s collect the brat and get something to eat. He can give me a rundown about this crush of his.” 

Jack had no choice but to agree. 

\- - - - - -

The second phase of the plan – the phase that included Les actually talking to her at school – did not go as smoothly as the fact finding (“Stalking,” Davey insisted, though it’s now accompanied with a small smirk) or the practicing at approaching. Jack couldn't be there for that part of the plan, obviously, so he just had to wait until Les and Davey got back to the deli in the afternoon. 

Try #1 saw Les marching into the deli with streaks of black and white paint staining his clothes, hands and hair. Jack looked at Davey who was following his brother with an exasperated air to him. 

“What happened?” 

“I tripped,” Les said, tone flat, “Again.” 

“Did you fall into a painting?” 

Davey winced and took over the explanation when all Les did was sink lower into the seat across from Jack. “They’re repainting part of the building and he tripped over some of the equipment the painters left laying around and kind of fell into one of the paint trays.” 

Jack looked between Davey and Les. “That all?” 

“No,” Davey continued and Les groaned beside him, dropping his head onto the surface of the table, “Cecilia tried to help him up and, well…”

“Well, what?”

“It was slippery, so when she tugged his feet didn’t really plant and she ended up in the paint next to him.” 

“I want to die,” Les whined without lifting his head. 

Jack looked at Davey who in turn looked at the ceiling without acknowledging the dramatics. Jack had a feeling that this was not the first time today that Davey had heard that proclamation. 

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Jack said softly, “It’s fine. If she’s that sensitive about an accident, maybe she ain’t someone you want ta get close to anyway. Was she upset?” 

“A little,” Les muttered and then finally looked up at Jack, “She asked me if I was alright, though. Seemed worried about my clothes as much as hers.”

“So, she wasn’t mad?”

“I don’t think so.” 

“Then it’s okay,” Jack reassured him, “Jus’ have to try again, huh?” 

Try #2 was met with a two black eyes. Les’ to be exact. Jack actually stood up straight from where he’d been waiting for the brothers, leaned against the outside wall of the lodging house. They were late and he couldn’t stop the commiserating pained noise he made when he got a look at Les’ swollen nose and the dark purpling that was setting in under both his eyes. 

“Jesus,” Jack breathed and traded a look with a grim-faced Davey, “how did that happen?” 

Les’ bruised eyes looked up at Jack balefully. “She elbowed me.” 

Jack blinked. “What?”

“Not on purpose,” Davey cut in, voice soft, “he went up to help her with her books and startled her and she accidentally got him in the nose as she turned around.” 

“Are you okay?” Jack asked. 

Les shrugged. “It isn’t broken.” 

“That’s why we’re late,” Davey said, “We stopped by the nurse first, to be sure.” 

“Does it hurt?” 

“A little,” Les said, “Are Rambler and Boots here?”

“Yeah, upstairs. Are you –” Jack began and Les brushed by him without another word. He looked over at Davey. 

“She was mortified,” Davey sighed, tired, “She apologized a lot and then when I talked about seeing the nurse, she basically ran out of there like the hounds of hell were after her.” 

“What a mess,” Jack said, suddenly as tired as Davey looked. 

On try #3, Les went right to the counter at _Jacobi’s_ and ordered a coca-cola and sat at the counter with the kind of hangdog expression of misery while he slumped down on his high-top stool. He looked like a small, young version of the sad drunks Jack had seen in every bar he’d snuck into in the city. Davey came over and dropped next to Jack. Jack opened his mouth and Davey shook his head. 

“Don’t ask,” he said. Jack closed his mouth and shut up. 

He stopped counting after that. 

\- - - - - -

“So, you and Davey are getting better.” 

It was a statement, but there was a curl at the end of the sentence that made Jack think Crutchie meant it as a question. He eyed the blond man, who was doing a great impression of pretending to inspect the apartment that Jack was thinking about renting. It was on the ground floor – which was a miracle in of itself – so Crutchie and the kids wouldn’t have to do any climbing if they wanted to visit and the rent wasn't so outrageous that he would have to worry about feeding himself on top of everything else. 

Well. Not most of the time anyway. 

“What’s that supposed ta mean?”

Crutchie shrugged. “Jus’ that you two seem better. More normal.” 

“As opposed to what?” 

Crutchie gave him a knowing look. “You know what.” 

“No, I don’t.” 

“Jack. You and Davey could barely look at each other for a couple days an’ then he still looked jumpy as an alleycat when ya get too close.” 

“Wasn’t that bad,” Jack muttered, scuffing his shoe against one of the floorboards in the tiny kitchen that didn’t quite lay flat. 

“Yes, it was,” Crutchie went on, ignoring him completely, “But it’s been better ‘dis week.” 

“Is there a point in all of this?” Jack huffed, practically feeling his hackles rise at the not-so-subtle line of questioning. 

Crutchie gave a long suffering sigh. “I’m askin’ if you're alright. You and Davey – it’s weird for all ‘a us when you ain’t right wit one another.” 

Jack scrubbed a hand through his hair, not bothering to hide his agitation from Crutchie; they’d been too close for too long for him to think he could really get away with it. “It’s fine, Crutch. Me and Davey…it’s fine. Really.” 

Crutchie rose an eyebrow at him. “Dat’s real reassurin’. Thanks, Jack.”

“What do you want me ta say?” Jack threw his hands up, “We’re good.”

“Look,” Crutchie said, voice going soft and kind – the same tone he used when he was talking one of the younger kids through a nightmare, “It’s either me or Race. And he thought we should jus’ throw you an’ Davey inta the meetin’ room and lock the door. So. If you’d rather that…?”

Jack shuddered. And was kind of impressed that Race had apparently noticed the tension despite being absent for a lot of it. The wiry pain was too damn smart for his own good. “No. No, I would not.” 

“Then talk ta me,” Crutchie said, coming up to him, earnest expression punching through Jack’s defenses like they were made of hot butter. 

“It’s complicated,” _understatement of the year_ , “There was a…thing that happened and now we’re dealin’ with it. It’s fine, like I said.” 

“A thing,” Crutchie’s tone couldn’t be drier if it was accompanied by a sand dune.

“Yes. A thing.” 

Crutchie brought a hand up and rubbed at his temple as if he was in pain. “Jack. What is dat supposed to mean?”

“It means there was an incident and now we’re workin’ ta put it behind us. So’s we can go back to bein’ friends. All normal like.” 

“Back to bein’ friends. _Back_ to bein’ friends.”

Jack scowled. “Are you a broken record player or somethin’? Yes.” 

“Jack, you and Davey ain’t _never_ been ‘normal’ friends. You ain’t never latched onta someone quicker than Davey. You took ‘im to see _Spot Conlon_ without a thought and your stubborn ass actually deferred ta him. Race said that the two ‘a you looked at each other like a bad version of Romeo and Juliet at the rally. Like something outta _Wuthering Heights_ ; all betrayal and pain and pinin’.” 

“ _Wuthering Heights_? Seriously?” 

“I got depths, don’t change the subject,” Crutchie countered with and pointed at Jack, “The point is you and Davey ain’t got a normal to fall back on. So, whatever happened…it had ta be big.” 

Jack looked away. “It’s fine. We’re workin’ on it, okay? You said it’s getting better, right? Becaue it _is_. You gotta trust that me and Davey know what we’re doin’.” 

Crutchie’s look pierced through him, flaying layers off as if he could see the core of the problem and tell whether Jack was telling the truth if he just looked hard enough. Jack half expected him to be able too. Eventually, he shorter teen stood back on his heels and nodded slightly. “Fine. I’ll tell Race that he don’t need ta do anything drastic.” 

“Thank you.” 

“But Jack,” Crutchie reached out and clasped a hand around his arm, “Word of advice? Maybe what you and Davey need isn’t ta forget about it, huh? Don’t tie yourselves up in knots tryin’ ta be something you ain’t, okay? None of us…none ‘a us care ‘bout that stuff. Normal, or whatever.”

Jack focused on the floor beneath him, refusing to let Crutchie see the shine that he could feel gathering around his lashes. His brother squeezed his arm one last time and then let him go. He turned in a circle, discussion done, giving Jack a sense of privacy to pull himself together. 

Then: “Another piece of advice? Take this apartment, will ya? That one on Forrester was a fuckin’ fire waitin’ to happen.” 

Jack choked on a laugh. 

He signed a lease and handed over the first month’s rent that afternoon. 

\- - - - - - 

In the end, the disaster of Les’ attempts to get Cecilia’s attention were solved by a runaway horse. 

Their motley trio was walking back along their usual route, detoured from _Floblum’s_ where they had stocked up on sweets (and peeked in on Race who looked half-crazed, curls flying everywhere, but with a grin to match), when the shouts started. A police whistle cut through the air and all three of them turned to see a galloping horse being chased by a yelling group of men. Most of the people along the sidewalks and street scattered at the first sign of commotion. But there were a few who froze, fear and instinct locking them into inaction. 

One of those just happened to be one Cecilia Hewitt. 

Without thought, Les ran out into the street and yanked the terrified flower girl away from danger, dragging her back to the curb lining the cobblestone street. The horse flew by them, followed by its hapless owners. 

“Holy shit,” Jack said when the streets began to move again in the wake of the accident. 

“Les, are you fucking crazy!” Davey said immediately, grabbing his brother, eyes wandering over him looking for injuries. He was a little scrapped where he fell backward and was breathing in short wheezes from the exertion, but otherwise seemed fine to Jack. “You could’ve been killed!” 

“But I wasn’t,” he pointed out between breathes. Jack thought Davey’s eyes might fall out if he tried to open them any wider. 

“Les –” 

Davey’s tirade was cut off at the knees when suddenly Les was thrown off balance by Cecilia all but tackling him; arms thrown around Les’ shoulders and babbling into his neck. 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Les looked like he was a second away from having a heart attack – which, coincidentally, he did not look when he’d been in the middle of the strike or just now when he’d almost been trampled – and hesitantly hugged the girl back. His eyes bounced between Davey and Jack, huge and terrified. 

“Uh, it was nothing. Really.” 

She pulled back, a shaky but genuine smile on her pale face. “Yes, it was. _Thank you_. You saved my life!” 

Jack glanced over at Davey when Les puffed out his chest a little. Davey had a strange half-horrified, half-exasperated, half-murderous look on his face. Jack sympathized; his heart was still going bonkers; he couldn’t imagine how Davey must feel. 

“—back to the shop. Mom and Dad’ll want to meet you,” Cecilia stopped and looked over at Davey and Jack, shrinking back a little at whatever she saw there, voice slowing down and going quiet and unsure, “If that’s okay, I mean?” 

Les looked at them so beseechingly that Jack and Davey sighed at almost the exact same time. 

Apparently, they were going to a flower shop. 

It was a beautiful place. The Hewitt’s shop was a riot of colors and smells; winding orchids and sunny daffodils and blue crocuses all filling the place with a living energy that made Jack want to grab some paints and go to town. Davey was far more cautious in the space, keeping his distance from the soft petals in the way only someone worried about damaging something could be. 

Les was in some kind of dazed state. The Hewitt’s were clearly good people, quick to smile – a little tired around the edges, but then who wasn’t in Manhattan – and they took turns hugging their daughter fiercely before Mr. Hewitt shook Les’ hand and Mrs. Hewitt pulled him into an embrace herself. 

Cecilia held onto Les’ hand almost the whole time. Les probably wouldn’t notice if the world ended. 

“Can I help you?” 

Jack looked in the direction of the voice and was met with a pair of curious blue eyes. Golden curls fell around a pretty face and a generous smile lit up the fine-boned features. She was wearing a grass-green dress underneath an apron and giving Jack her entire attention. 

The sister, he assumed. What had Davey said her name was? Georgie? Georgia? 

“Oh, uh, no, I’m good. We’re just here for, you know,” he gestured to where Les and Cecilia were now huddled around some kind of red flower Jack didn’t know the name of. 

“Ah,” She looked over at her sister with a soft look and then turned back to him, smile sharpening a little, “Is he your brother?” 

Jack frowned, a little confused. “Don’t you –”

He stopped. He recognized that smile. Unfamiliar girl, but it was the kind of smile he’d used himself on pretty girls for years. For the first time, he realized that she was just a step closer than was probably normal and blinked, kind of stunned. There was nothing inappropriate about it, but there was a growing feeling of discomfort bubbling up in his chest. 

He glanced around the shop, looking for Davey instinctively. The other teen was standing a few feet away and softly – delicately – rubbing the petal of a white flower between his fingers. He was hunched over a little, hat clutched in his other hand where he’d taken it off to be polite and his dark hair was half sticking up and half plastered down around his forehead and ears. A soft smile was barely clinging to the corners of his mouth and he looked calm for the first time since Les had run out into the street. 

“Yes,” he said, still watching Davey, “Kinda.” 

The girl’s eyebrows went up, confused. “Kinda?” 

“Yeah. Say, those white flowers over there, what are they?” 

She looked over and recognition swept over her when she spotted Davey. “Uh, those are calla lilies.”

“They expensive?” 

She shook her head. “Twenty cents each. Dollar and a half for a dozen. The orange and red ones are more.” 

“Hey, Davey! Bring me a couple a those, will ya?” 

Davey looked up at him, furrow between his eyes. “The flowers?”

Jack rolled his eyes. “Yes, the flowers.” 

Davey carefully pulled two out of the large glass bouquet vase they were held in and walked over to Jack’s side. “Here,” he said, passing the blooms over, still bemused. 

“Hello, David.” 

Davey, for the first time, glanced over at the girl and then his face went distant. A polite, somewhat painful looking half-smile automatically took over his mouth. “Georgia. Hi.” 

Georgia, right. “Guess, I’m gonna get these,” he waved the flowers gently, “Wanna ring me up?” 

“Yeah,” she broke out of her stupor and took a step back towards the counter and cash register, “that’ll be forty cents.” 

Jack handed over two quarters, ignoring the incredulous look Davey was giving him. Eventually, Davey gave up waiting for an answer to his unspoken question and turned to Les. “Les, come on. If we don’t leave now, we won’t be able to see the guys before we have to get home for dinner.” 

Georgia blinked. “Wait, he’s _your_ brother?”

Davey looked back at her and nodded. “Yeah, why?”

“But you said –” She swung her eyes over to Jack and stopped before she finished the thought. She bit her lip and shook her head. “It’s nothing; nevermind.”

Davey frowned, but didn’t comment further. Georgia blushed, pink tinting his cheeks and she looked away from Davey; giving Jack a smile, though this one was a few shades more professional then it was earlier.

“Do we have ‘ta?” Les asked, as he and Cecilia joined their group. 

“Yes,” Davey said, putting his foot down, but there was a gentleness in his eyes that smoothed the tone out, “You guys can talk Monday, okay? And they invited you over for dinner next week, didn’t they?” 

“Yeah, you’re right,” Les said, a little more enthusiastic with the reminder, he turned to Cecilia, “I guess I’ll see you later, then?” 

Cecilia smiled, big and bright. “Of course. Goodbye, Les,” she said and then leaned over and kissed his cheek quickly before scampering off behind the selves into the back of the shop. 

“Great,” Jack tried to fake annoyance, but the smile he felt stretching across his face destroyed the attempt, “Now how are we gonna get ‘im outta here?” 

Davey looked at his twitterpated brother and threw Jack an equally toothy grin. “Maybe we should rent a cart. I think walking’s beyond him right now.” 

Les finally registered their tones and narrowed his eyes at their chuckles. “I am _fine_. Thank you very much.” 

“Fine, huh?” Davey said. 

Les lifted his nose into the air and looked down it at both of them. “You just don’t understand women. Or love,” he declared in the haughtiest tone imaginable and then marched himself out of the store. 

“Jesus Christ,” Jack muttered, torn between amusement and shock. 

Davey groaned. “I’m having flashbacks to that day at Medda’s before the rally. He’s going to be impossible.” 

Jack laughed aloud at the memory. “ _I’ve been swattin’ skirts away all morning_.” 

“Do _not_ remind me,” Davey bemoaned. 

A throat cleared, and they both jumped before looking back at Georgia who was staring at them with a strange light in her eyes. She gave them a small, unsure smile. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Nah, sorry. We’ll get outta the way,” Jack said and tugged on Davey’s vest without thinking about it. Davey nodded at Georgia and followed Jack out of the flower shop and into the streets. 

“Tell me again, what’re the flowers for?” Davey asked once they were back in noise and creeping, smoggy air of the city. 

“Well, they’re for the apartment.” 

“The apartment?” 

“My apartment. Figured flowers is always a good decoration, right? And these are pretty enough.” 

Jack watched the words register in Davey’s mind and translate into a delighted grin. “You got an apartment? Jack, that’s amazing!” 

Jack scratched at the back of neck, overwhelmed in the face of Davey’s approval. “’Tween you and Crutchie, I didn’t have no choice. Probably gonna have a party or somethin’ later.” 

“We’ll be there,” Davey promised, then, with barely a hesitation, he reached out and cuffed Jack on the jaw lightly, “You’re all grown up, now.” 

“Thanks. I think.”

“Just don’t leave us behind,” Davey joked. 

_That’s my line_ , Jack thought, a little hysterically. “Course not. We’re inevitable, remember?” 

_Maybe what you and Davey need isn’t ta forget about it. Don’t tie yourselves up in knots pretendin’ ta be something you ain’t_ , Crutchie’s serious words bounced around in his head as he walked with Davey, listening to the other teen talk about how he and the others could help with a combination birthday/housewarming party. 

It wasn’t until they got to the lodging house that it occurred to him; something very much like the thick, syrupy taste of hope coating his tongue. 

For the first time in three weeks, Davey hadn’t flinched away from him.


	5. v. let me be the first to say (that i don't have a clue)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this is a disjointed mess - and it feels kind of like one to me - than I apologize. I kind of lost it in the middle a bit and I'm not sure if I ever recovered. Hopefully, it's still a decent read. *fingers crossed* Also, sorry it's a day late - yesterday and the first half of today were pretty amazing - in a bad way. 
> 
> All mistakes are mine and everyone who takes the time to read, comment or leave kudos is awesome. 
> 
> Chapter title from _Trying_ by Lifehouse.
> 
>  **Warning** : There are references to and some descriptions of the aftermath of child abuse in this chapter. So, if that's triggering for you, please contact me for more information or to tell you what to skip. There both in the first section of the chapter; one is a passing mention and the other is a little more in depth. To skip: go to the starred part followed by the words: _David nodded and the two left_. Take care of yourselves, guys.

“ _– and when you can tell me she is dead, I will send you back to Kansas – but not before_.” 

“Should make ‘da Wizard send ‘er somewheres else,” Scramble, one of the newest newsies, said; only seven and with a cross-stitch of burn scars that traveled the length of his arm in a sick parody of a skillet waffle maker and so small besides that David wanted to keep him wrapped up in blankets all the time. He yawned through the words, “Kansases is borin’, ain’t it?”

“An’ it’s a farm,” Reese piped in, another one of the pint-sized newsies and Scramble’s best friend, “Don’t dey smell terrible? All da animals an’ stuff?” 

David smiled. “I don’t think they smell any worse than the meatpacking district does; that’s pretty terrible isn’t it?” 

Reese pulled an exaggerated look of disgust that made David bark out a laugh involuntarily. “Yeah. Maybe.” 

“Well, there you go,” David said and then shut the book. A couple of the kids groaned, but most of them were zonked out already and didn’t notice him stopping at all, “That’s enough for tonight, I think.” 

“Come on, Davey,” Scramble muttered, eyes all but closed, “I’se awake. Jus’ a coupla more pages?” 

“Sorry, munchkin,” he said and received a few scattered giggles for the term, “but you are barely hanging on. Time to sleep; the book will be here for another time.” 

Crutchie stepped in to help David tuck the kids in and the chorus of goodnights that followed them to the doorway of the bunkhouse made the smile on David’s face grow. They passed an exhausted looking Race who was muttering about permits under his breath as he dragged himself up the stairs; pausing only to wave a brief, half-hearted greeting to them both. David turned to Crutchie, but before he could even ask, the other teen was rolling his eyes and giving him a knowing look. 

“’e’s fine, Davey. There’s some kinda hold up at City Hall dat’s drivin’ them all crazy. But he’s fine. Really.” 

David sighed. “Sorry.” 

Crutchie shrugged. “It’s fine. I know ya worry.”

David could feel himself grimace and Crutchie huffed a little in response. “It ain’t a bad thing, Davey.” 

“It only feels that way, right?” 

“You care,” Crutchie said, matter-of-factly, “ain’t no one here that don’t ‘preciate that when it’s real.” 

David didn’t know what to say to that. Crutchie meant well with it, and David was grateful that his concern wasn’t something that grated on any of them, but at the same time the frank assessment of the terrible background’s most of the newsies had always gave him a sense of guilty righteousness that ultimately coalesced into bone-deep gloom. He thought of that terrible scar on Scramble’s arm; the fresh, bubbled pink of it when he first showed up at the lodging house; starving, in pain and trying not to show it. The grim line of Jack’s mouth as he watched Crutchie tend to it because at the time the blond was the only one of the older teens that he would let near him. The resignation the crept around Specs tired eyes and the unsubtle tension in Romeo’s frame. David was older than most of them and at times like that he looked at them and saw more combined age in the room than he imagined any business corner office would ever see. 

“Come on,” Crutchie broke into David’s depressing monologue with a casual tone that belied his shrewd look, “I’m stayin’ at Jack’s tonight. Walk wit me.” 

******David nodded and the two left the lodging house with a quick goodnight thrown to where Albert, Finch and Mush were sprawled out on the first floor with a pack of cards, yelling good-naturedly at one another. The evening air felt amazing on David’s face after being cooped up inside basically all day and the light painted everything in a hazy glow, lamplight from the lined streets casting light in muted pools around them. The tension from the day dissipated off his shoulders and he found himself telling a story about one of his summer school teachers who he and several of the other students had decided was probably hitting the cocaine a bit hard because he had a startling tendency to go off on tangents about nothing in the middle of lectures. As a result, they rolled up to Jack’s apartment with Crutchie cackling and David attempting to imitate the man through his own laughter. 

Jack stared at them when he opened the door, smiling automatically though his expression was bemused. “You two been doin’ that long? ‘Cause if you was everyone prob’ly thought you was drunk.” 

“I feel a little drunk,” David said, trying to get his amusement under control while Crutchie wiped at the tears that had gathered around his eyes. 

Jack shook his head. “Alright, get in here ya knuckleheads.” 

“It’s fine,” David said, staying on the threshold while Crutchie went inside, “I was just walking Crutchie over here.” 

Jack rose an eyebrow. “What are you, his mother? Come on, Dave. You eat yet?”

David stuffed his hands in his pockets and tried to seem nonchalant. “You don’t have to feed me, Jack.” 

Jack rolled his eyes, comically exaggerated and stared at David afterwards as if he was being particularly dumb. “I ain’t gotta do anythin’. Jus’ get in here already would you? You’re lettin’ all the hot air out.” 

“I genuinely don’t know if that was supposed to be a dig at me or not,” he said as he walked past Jack into the apartment. 

“I’ll jus’ leave ya in suspense then, if it’s all da same ta you,” Jack winked and reached out to push him to the side gently so he could go around him and into the kitchen. 

David let out the breath he unconsciously held – it had become worrying consistent of him to forget his normal breathing whenever Jack touched him now – and dropped his bookbag on the nearest piece of furniture; a fairly clean second hand couch, and wandered into the dining room. Crutchie was already sitting, crutch leaning up against the nearby counter and leaning down to rub at his bad leg with a pained look. 

“You okay, Crutch?” 

Crutchie froze for a moment then relaxed and waved a hand at David self-consciously. “Fine; jus’ hurts a little. You know how it is.” 

“Your leg still botherin’ you?” Jack asked, immediately concerned as he somehow managed to balance three bowls of pasta over to the table to sit in front of them. 

Crutchie gave Jack a baleful look that he then slowly – deliberately – swung back around to David. “Thanks Ma. Pops. But I’m _fine_.” 

Jack didn’t even have the decency to flush at that the way David knew he was. “You’re sweatin’. You sure youse okay?”

“Oh, for – yes, Jack. It’s a warm night an’ it’s a bit of a walk. Nothin’ ta worry about, huh?”

They ate with gusto – Jack’s cooking was a work in progress, but pasta he could do on account of Race teaching him because his ‘roots were offended by whatever the fuck dat was, cause it ain’t pasta, Jack, what da hell?’ – after which David helped clean up and then they both walked into the small living room to find Crutchie passed out on the couch; David’s bag on the floor so he could stretch his legs out. 

Jack made an incoherent noise, but his eyes softened at the sight. “Walkin’ a lot always takes it outta him.” 

David matched Jack’s low voice. “You said it was bothering him before?” 

“Yeah, said ‘e wrenched it or somethin’ a couple days ago. Been limpin’ more since.” 

David was so used to Crutchie being self-sufficient and maneuvering himself with the ease of experience that he paid almost no attention to how he got around anymore. He shook his head. “Be nice it was said something about it.”

“You know Crutch; don’t want no one fussin’ over ‘im,” Jack turned to David, unfathomable eyes pinning him in place. “What about you, Dave? School still runnin’ ya ragged?” 

He shrugged. “It’s only a couple months and I can graduate. I don’t mind suffering a little if it means I can be done.” 

“And after?” 

“I don’t know,” he stopped and then with more hesitance then normal continued, “I was thinking about going to teaching school, maybe.”

Jack smiled. “You’d be a damned amazing teacher, Davey.” 

David shrugged again. “It’s a thought.” 

“It’s a great thought,” Jack said and then, inexplicably, a faint brush of color appeared on his cheeks and he lowered his gaze, turning to stare at Crutchie and clearing his throat, “Speakin’ of thoughts; I had one of my own da other day.” 

“Well, don’t hurt yourself,” David said, mouth moving ahead of his brain. 

“Ass,” Jack countered, but his body language didn’t change at all, “So, I was thinkin’ that maybe you could, ya know, move in here. You been complain’ about livin’ with your folks and I got that empty office room or whatever.” 

David stared. “Move in here? With you?” 

“Obviously with me,” Jack said, voice going rough the way it did whenever he was embarrassed, “Said yourself yer gonna be graduatin’ soon and I thought I’d offer. Gets quiet in ‘ere at night; you’d be doin’ me a favor.” 

“What about – I mean, I assumed Crutchie –” 

“Nah, Crutchie’s all set up. Kloppman always had a soft spot for ‘im and since he ain’t got no kids of his own, and he ain’t gettin’ any younger, so, he’s been trainin’ Crutch to take over for ‘im. It’s got an apartment in da back and everythin’.” 

“What about –” 

“It ain’t that difficult, Dave,” Jack cut him off, body now wound up with a horrible tension that David hated seeing, “I got room. You need room. It’s jus’ a thought,” the last part was muttered softly, bitterness hanging off the words. 

David bit his lip and thought about it. About coming home to Jack every night. About falling asleep on a couch that smelled like him or watching him paint or just listening to him talk while they sat there after a long day. About Jack’s face being the first thing he saw in the morning and the last he saw before he went to sleep. He thought about how it would feel to be that close every goddamned day and never able to touch him. How long would it take before he did something stupid? How long before he said something that couldn’t be laughed off? How long could he take Jack smiling at him before he broke and begged him to just stop – or put him out of misery or fucking kiss him already because he couldn’t fucking take it – 

And still, the traitorous, besotted section of his heart that the brutally pragmatic part of him couldn’t quite conquer whispered that _it would be worth it_. All of it. All the cut off words and the pain and the inevitable heartbreak would probably be worth it. Hell, they’d (basically) worked their way around the incident in the kitchen over a month ago, and Jack was one of the most forgiving people in the world when it came to those he cared about; they might even be able to find a way back to friendship afterwards. Maybe. 

“I’ll think about it,” he said finally, voice distant as he tried to shut down his emotions from making it to the surface, “I appreciate it, Jack, thanks.” 

The tension swept out of Jack in a torrent; the gregarious smile slipping back into place. “Sure, thing, Davey.” 

_I’ve got to get out of here_. “It’s getting kind of late.” 

“Yeah, yeah, course,” Jack went over to the couch and picked up David’s bag and handing it off to him after they walked over to the door. 

“Thanks. For dinner too. It was nice.” 

Jack smirked. “Don’t haveta sound so surprised.” 

“I really do.” 

“Okay, smartass,” Jack groaned, but he was laughing as he said it, shoving David’s bag into his arms, “Get outta here. I don’t need that shit.” 

“I’m gone,” David said. 

“Stay safe, Dave,” the laughter dying away to something softer and more sincere. 

David nodded and began the walk home; scattered edges of his thoughts spinning erratically in his mind. 

_I am so fucking screwed_. 

\- - - - - -

His mother couldn’t look at him. 

It was a refrain that had become sadly familiar in the last few weeks. At first, David had been almost relieved about it; but now it just made him furious. Now, he spent as much time as possible staring, hoping she would look up and see him doing it. 

She never did. 

They didn’t talk either. She occasionally asked him a question when it couldn’t be avoided and he always answered, but the tone he used was clipped and angry and everyone else in the family had noticed almost immediately but were too confused to say anything about it. His father frowned a lot, looking back and forth between his wife and son as if he could puzzle out the problem if he just stared long enough. David was mostly grateful for that, as it meant that his mother hadn’t told him _why_ they were tiptoeing around each other. Les, when he was able to extract himself from the cloud Cecilia had put him on, would get quiet and awkward; unsure how to act around them. Sarah, bless her, tried to soldier on through the strangeness; making conversation and generally acting oblivious to the tension, but David knew her well and was waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

Apparently, it was dropping tonight. 

Two nights after his dinner at Jack’s, they were finishing their own at the table – David had kind of been in a bit of daze since then, turning Jack’s question over in his mind so much that the corners were dulled and middle going gooey from the handling – and it was then that Sarah announced that she and David were going out onto the fire escape. 

“We are?” David asked, breaking out of his haze. 

“We are,” she said, tone breezy, but the look in her brown eyes spelled out clearly that if he even tried to back out of it there would be hell to pay. 

“Can I go, too?” Les asked, from where he was helping their mother do the dishes. 

“Sorry, kiddo,” Sarah said, ruffling Les’ hair with one hand and clutching David’s arm in the other, “It’s strictly a older siblings outing.” 

Les splashed Sarah in retaliation and their mother scolded him while Sarah all but dragged David past their father down the hall to where the fire escape was located. She shut the window behind them decisively and then bullied him into sitting next to her. She adjusted her dress around her legs and leaned back against the building while he mirrored her position with his legs out in front of him. For a moment they basked in the spring night, perfectly at ease with the muffled sounds of the city and the silence between them.

“So, what happened?” 

“What?” 

“Don’t,” Sarah said, steel in her voice, “You and Mom have been a mess for weeks. So, I’m asking; what happened?”

“Don’t worry about it.” 

“Are you serious?” Sarah’s face contorted in indignation. 

“Sarah –” 

“It’s wearing on all of us, Dave. She won’t even _look at you_.”

“I –” He stopped, taking a breath and looking out over the crowded building crouched in the darkness that was rapidly cutting out the setting sun’s domain, “I’m sorry. If it’s making it hard on you and Les.” 

“You’re my little brother,” Sarah said and she threaded an arm through his, leaning her weight into his side, shuffling until they were pressed together the way they used to do when they were young – before Les was even born – when they needed reassurance. It made a hot, almost humiliated feeling stick to the back of David’s tongue to think that he looked so rattled that Sarah felt he needed it, “I love you and whatever this is – whatever happened – it’s making a mess of you.”

“Sarah –”

“ _Talk to me_.” 

David had never, in the history of his existence, been able to deny her anything when she pleaded with him. He sighed. “You remember when Jack came over for dinner?”

“Sure.” 

“We were talking in the kitchen afterwards? Anyway, it got…I mean, I don’t know what happened exactly. We were talking and then Jack – he touched me, a little and I…I don’t know, Sarah. We almost…we were so close and – then Mom walked in.” 

He looked over at Sarah, who was staring at him, brows furrowed as she tried to translate his rambling into something coherent. Eventually, her eyes cleared and flew open wide, mouth dropping a bit. 

“Were you – were you and Jack actually _kissing_ when she saw you?” She asked softly, a bubble of quiet anticipation formed around them. Her grip on his arm tightened. 

“No!” He said, louder than he wanted, and coughed; immediately dropping his voice to match hers in volume. “No, we weren’t. But…the way it looked. It was bad, Sarah.” 

Sarah’s voice was grave when she spoke. “So, she thought something had happened. That’s what you’re saying?” 

“Yeah. She – after Jack left she _suggested_ that I take a break from going to the lodging house.”

“And?” 

“And said that…well, she basically implied that it was Jack’s fault. That he was _influencing_ me or something. I don’t know; I got angry and left. And now she won’t look at me; let alone actually talk to me.” 

Sarah sighed heavily. “I’m sorry, David.” 

“Why? It’s not your fault.” 

“And it’s not yours either,” Sarah staunchly replied. 

He laughed brokenly. “Sure, it’s not.” 

They were quiet for a moment. “Would you have?” 

David looked over at Sarah, who was looking down at the grated metal beneath them. “What?” 

“Would you have? Would you have kissed him if she hadn’t walked in?” 

David swallowed the tightness in his throat. “I…god, probably.” He tucked one hand into a fist and barely heard himself, it was so low. “I wanted too.” 

Sarah took a shaky breath and nodded. “I wondered,” she gave him a shadow of her normal smirk, “You guys are kind of ridiculously involved, you know.” 

“Jack doesn’t – it’s just me, Sarah. Jack isn’t like…that.” 

Sarah looked at him, eyes narrowed. “Did he say that?” 

“Basically.” 

“Uh-huh,” her tone was skeptical but thankfully, she didn’t push him about it. Sitting in the dark, lost in their own thoughts. Suddenly, her nails dug into his skin and she took a deep breath. 

“I kissed Katherine.” 

David’s heart stumbled and he whipped his head around to stare at her, gobsmacked. “You what?” 

She groaned pitifully. “I’ve been spending time with her, you know; since the park. She’s so amazing and we were at her place a couple days ago and she was laughing about something her friend Darcy did and I just…kissed her.” 

David was stunned. “Wow.” 

Sarah pinched him. He yelped. “That’s all you have to say?” 

“What happened?” 

Sarah blushed and David goggled. Sarah hadn’t blushed since she was eight and fell off the sidewalk into a small pile of horse manure in front of a group of kids they’d gone to school with. This was unprecedented. “I left.” 

“You left.” 

“Yes.” 

David felt his eyebrows raise. “You ran away.” 

She groaned again, this time burying her forehead in his shoulder. “I practically sprinted. I think I knocked over a chair as I went. It was terrible.” 

David cleared his throat, still thrown. “Did you…have you wanted to do that for a while, or was it a spur of the moment thing?”

“Both? You’ve seen her; she’s gorgeous, but I wasn’t going to _do_ anything.” 

“Are you…? I mean, do you…”

She rolled her eyes, but her face was leeched of color and there was a fear in her eyes that David recognized. “I don’t…men don’t really…I don’t think I like them that way. At all.” 

David closed his eyes briefly, taking that in and then put his arm around her shoulders, tucking her into his side more securely. “Okay.” 

She shivered and looked at him, hopeful but guarded. “Okay?” 

“You’re my big sister,” He echoed, giving her a squeeze, “I love you. No matter what.” 

A half-sob caught in her lungs and she nodded shyly. “I’ve never actually said that out loud before,” she looked at him, “What about you?” 

He shrugged stiltedly. “Both, I guess. Is that even possible?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” She asked, unconcerned. They sat there and then Sarah nudged him a little. “Is that it? I mean, is anything else bothering you? You’ve been kind of spacey the last day or so.” 

“Jack asked if I wanted to move in with him after I graduate.” 

Sarah blinked. “Is that smart?” 

He dug fingers into his eyes and made a waffling shake of his head. “I don’t know. Probably not, all things considered.” 

“You’re going to do it anyway, aren’t you?” 

“Probably.” 

She huffed at that and the carefully laid her head on his shoulder. “I’m scared, David,” she said, sounding as far away from the confident sister he was so used too. 

He pulled his legs up, helping to cocoon them into a ball of sorts. A cool wind went by and he let the sharpness of the air fill his lungs before letting it out slowly before answering.

“Me too.” 

\- - - - - -

The next day, he was writing down the functions of the different parts of the respiratory system in his biology class when the there was a knock, followed by the door to the classroom being wrenched open. His teacher, a spidery old man whose sense of humor actually made the class interesting most of the time, looked up in alarm at the interruption and David and his classmates copied the motion to see what was going on. 

“Can I help you, young man?” 

David dropped his pencil, which then rolled off the desk; clattering to the floor. “Jack?”

Standing just in the doorway, the office secretary by his side, was Jack. He was practically vibrating in place, face a ghostly white and eyes wild. David hadn’t seen him so uncontrolled since the fight with the police at the strike. He could just make out the other students and his teacher looking at him, but he was so focused on Jack that it didn’t register beyond the vague feeling. 

“Jack, what are –” 

“Davey, you gotta – it’s Crutchie. I don’t know what ta do,” Jack’s accent was so sharp and he spoke so quickly that David almost didn’t understand the words. 

Almost. 

The moment he recognized Crutchie’s name, David had begun packing up his papers and books, throwing them in his discarded bag and standing up. He picked through the desks around him until he got to Jack’s side, guiding him back through the doorway.

“What happened?” 

“It’s –”

“Mr. Jacobs! Where do you think you’re going?” His teacher’s booming voice cut through the frantic energy that surrounded Jack and David looked back at the confused man. 

“I have to go. Family emergency,” he said and didn’t wait for a response before he clutched at Jack’s shaking arms and pulled him back into the hallway and marching over to the exit of the school. 

“Talk to me, Jack,” he said the minute they were on the street. 

“It’s Crutchie,” he reiterated, agitated, “He was wit me outside Jacobi’s and he jus’ collapsed! He’s burnin’ up and I don’t…I don’t know what’s wrong and he ain’t makin’ no sense and…” 

“Okay, okay, Jack, you have to breath. Where is he now? The lodging house?” 

“No, no. I took ‘im ta my place.” 

“Then let’s go.” 

They basically ran all the way over to Jack’s. Once they got there, Romeo opened the door for them and they huddled over to Specs who was sitting beside the couch where Crutchie was laid out. The lanky teen stood up when he saw them and Jack immediately took his place, slipping a hand overtop of Crutchie’s. The blond was shivering – the fever Jack mentioned most likely – and he didn’t look completely conscious. David dropped his bag and turned to Specs. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Specs shook his head. “We don’t know. He wasn’t feelin’ too good yesterday, or this morning, but none of us thought it was too bad. You know how it is. And then, at lunch, we heard Jack yell and when Romeo and I got there, he’d already fallen.” 

“Jack said he wasn’t making any sense? Was he conscious then?” 

Specs made a see-saw motion with his hand. “Kinda. In and out. And when ‘e was in, he wasn’t makin’ any sense. Jack ran ta get you after we got ‘im here.” 

“He’s hotter than blazes,” Romeo added, arms crossed over his chest and face more serious than David was used to seeing it, “We’se got ‘im some water and he drank it.” 

“That’s good,” David muttered. He watched Jack murmur to Crutchie and then went into professional organizing mode. He rolled his sleeves up and pointed to the bathroom. “Romeo, get me a wet towel, okay. Cold water, please.” 

“Got it, boss,” Romeo saluted and went off to follow his instructions.

He turned to Specs next. “Go tell the others. Race, too, if you can manage it. I don’t want to overwhelm Crutchie; but the others deserve to know what’s going on.” 

“Can do,” Specs said and after squeezing Jack’s shoulder in solidarity and running a hand through Crutchie’s flyaway hair and telling him to hang in there; he left the apartment. 

David approached the couch and dropped until he was kneeling next to it. He took in Crutchie’s ragged breathing and the sheen of sweat on his face and neck as critically as he could. He put his palm to his friend’s forehead and was instantly startled with how warm he was. 

“Crutchie?” David asked, gently pushing Crutchie around until their eyes met, “Hey, buddy, can you tell me how you feel?” 

“Hot,” Crutchie muttered, his eyes were glazed; another thing to be worried about. 

“I figured. Anything else? Does anything hurt?” 

“My leg.” 

“Leg,” David moved down to where Crutchie’s legs were thrown over the couch cushions. “Good one, or bad one?” 

“Bad.” 

Romeo came skittering into the room and gave the wet cloth to Jack, who began wiping the sweat off Crutchie’s skin and giving in a modicum of relief. David gestured for Romeo to help him. 

“I need to roll his pant leg up. Hold it steady for me.” 

Romeo put a firm hand on Crutchie’s ankle and David, as gently as he could, pulled the pant leg upward, but it was more difficult than he imagined because the leg was clearly swollen. He cursed and looked at Jack. 

“We need to either get his pants off or I have to cut it to see why it’s swollen.” 

Jack looked at Crutchie and then let go of his hand and took the thin material and began ripping upward. “He can have one of mine after,” he muttered and then torn the fabric open up to the knee where it was readily apparent what was wrong. 

“Jesus,” Romeo muttered. 

“What the hell is that?” Jack barked out, eyes wide and horrified. 

David put a hand up to his mouth in an effort to keep the bile pooling in his throat from spilling out. He swallowed and tried to collect the meager medical knowledge he had. Carefully, he put his hand above the wound and cursed under his breath at the heat radiating off of it even though the cause was obvious without it. 

The wound itself was a jagged line from the lower shin to a few inches below the kneecap. The skin around it was inflamed and the wound itself was leaking a mixture of pus and blood in places. Worse yet, there were a spider web of veins outlined crawling away from the cut. It looked incredibly painful and David glanced over at Crutchie in sympathy. 

“It’s infected.” 

“No shit, Davey,” Jack bit out, control flaking away. “What do we do?” 

“I don’t think there’s a lot we can do. He needs a doctor, Jack.” 

“And where are we gonna get a doctor? None a’ us can afford that.” 

“No, Jack you don’t get it,” David looked up at him, keeping his voice as steady as possible, “This infection – I think it’s blood poisoning.” 

“That sounds really bad,” Romeo said. 

“It is,” David kept his eyes locked with Jack, “He needs real medicine, Jack. Effective medicine.” 

“Or what?” Jack asked, but the way his voice gained an octave said that he already understood. 

“Or he’ll lose the leg. At the least. If it’s not treated, he’ll die.” 

Jack sunk back into the chair next to Crutchie, completely limp. “Davey…” He brought a hand up, fingers closing over his lips and eyes closing for a minute. David listened to his breathing hitch once, twice before the fingers dug furrows into his jaw and then the eyes reopened and stared at David. 

“What do we do?” 

David sat back on his heels and thought. Crutchie was only semi-aware, which was bad, and none of them knew how long this had been going on; thought he didn’t think it was a long time. They needed professional help. First and foremost. A doctor and medicine. 

“I might know someone,” David said slowly, he clambered to his feet; mind already blocks away. “I’ve got to go.” 

“I’m going with you,” Jack said. 

David didn’t worry about arguing; the less time spent distracted the better. “Fine. Romeo, will you –” 

“Don’t even ask, just go.” 

When they arrived at the apartment building half an hour later, Jack was back to being a barely leashed animal; all but pacing while David knocked. David wanted to snap at Jack to calm down, that wearing himself out wouldn’t do anything and it was driving David crazy besides, but he knew it would only lead to a yelling, so he sat on his own agitation and waited. 

The man who answered the door was only a handful of years older than them. His black hair was loose and falling around his face and a pair of green eyes stared at them under hooded lids. He blinked and then recognition came over him and a smile framed by deep dimples came over his fine boned face. 

“David? Hi, fancy seeing you here.” 

“Luke. Can we come in? I need to talk to you.” 

“Sure? Come in,” Luke ushered them into his apartment, “It’s been awhile. How are you? Do you want anything? I can –” 

“Mom mentioned that you were working at Bellevue. Is that true?” David cut off the rambling politeness. 

Luke stopped moving. “Yeah; been there for a year now. Why?” 

“Look, my friend and I,” he gestured to Jack, who was standing beside him, stone-faced, “we need help. Medical help.” 

Luke looked back and forth. “Of course. Is…it’s not your dad, is it?” 

“No, it’s our friend. He’s got a cut that’s infected. It’s bad.” 

“Do you –” 

“Look, are you coming or not?” Jack cut in, practically growling. 

Luke hesitated and then pointed another room. “I’ll, uh, go get a bag, then?” 

He disappeared around the corner and David turned on Jack, a little pissed. “Really, Jack?”

Jack shrugged. “Where’d you find this guy anyway?” 

“Our families know each other. They used to joke about him and Sarah getting married when we were younger. They still live in the same building as us.” 

“And ‘e’s a doctor?” 

“Yes.” 

Luke walked back out to them, keys in one hand and bag of – presumably – medical equipment in the other. “Okay, so tell me what his symptoms are while we walk.” 

When they got back to Jack’s apartment, it was significantly more crowded then when they’d left. Specs was back and Race had apparently followed him; Albert was hanging around the doorway between the kitchen and living room and Les was sitting on the floor next to the couch. 

While Jack and Specs herded the gaggle of newsies out of the way, David lead Luke over to the couch. Luke took out his stethoscope and thermometer went through a serious of quick tests. His frown got worse after every one, but it was nothing compared to the expression that came over him when he peeled the makeshift bandage Romeo had concocted off and exposed the wound. 

“Dear god,” he muttered, staring at the mess. He looked up at David. “You’re right. I think sepsis has set in.” 

“Sepsis?” Jack said, suddenly back at David’s side, arms crossed over his chest. 

“Another name for blood poisoning,” Luke absently said, he prodded at the wound and stopped when Crutchie – now much further into a delirium – moaned. “The wound needs to be cleaned and flushed. And he needs fluids; as soon as possible to keep him from slipping into shock. And medicine – iodine or bromine.” 

“Can you get us some?” David asked. 

Luke shook his head. “I don’t have any with me. He needs to be at a hospital.” 

“He can’t,” David said, cutting off whatever response Jack looked ready to give, “He can’t pay for it. Can’t you – I mean, you’ve got access to it at the hospital, right? Can’t you get some and bring it back here?” 

“Steal,” Luke said, sounding shocked, “You want me to steal from the hospital?” 

“Just enough to help him,” David wheedled, “One person’s worth – you can’t tell me they’ll miss it.” 

“David, I can’t. I’m sorry, but I’ll lose my job if anyone sees.” 

“No one’s going to see. It’ll be fine. A couple doses. That’s all I’m asking.” 

“No,” Luke’s brows shot downward, perturbed, “You know I’d do anything for you, David. But this is ludicrous. You’ll just have to bring him into the hospital.” 

“We can’t,” Jack said through clenched teeth, “Don’t you hear good? We ain’t got the money for it.” 

“Then I’m sorry. But outside of cleaning the wound and giving him some laudanum, I can’t help.” 

David pushed himself into Luke’s space, making the shorter man tilt his head up to look at him. All the frustration from the week and the fear for the last couple of hours bubbled over until his voice was a mockery of its normal tone. Luke’s eyes widened at the proximity and livid tone. “That’s bullshit and you know it. You know what’ll happen to him if this isn’t treated properly, you know and you still won’t do it? Are you a doctor or aren’t you?” 

Luke swallowed, but stayed frozen. “I…” he trailed off and David saw red. 

“Answer me!” 

“Yes, yes, of course, I know,” Luke answered quickly, “But David –” 

“You think he doesn’t deserve it because he’s poor?” 

“What? No –” 

“Then help us for christsake,” David pointed a finger and poked Luke in the sternum, hard. “Some saline and bromine can’t be that much of a deal breaker. Get it, bring it back here and do your _damn **job**_!” 

The room fell into an uneasy silence when he was done; the only noise was the small groans that Crutchie was letting out on the couch. Eventually – finally – Luke nodded and took a step back, eyes immediately falling away from David’s. 

“Okay. I’ll…it’ll be a while before I can get back. In the meantime, clean the wound as best you can and make sure he drinks. I’ll be back as soon as I can,” the other man’s voice was soft, capitulating. 

“Right,” David said, when Luke left and all the eyes of the newsies – and a fair amount of smirks – were directed at him. “You heard the man.” 

They soft background of talking started back up and then David felt a hand slip into his, squeezing briefly and then let go. He glanced over and saw Jack looking at him with an indiscernible expression. When he saw David looking, a grateful smile beamed back at him.

“Thanks, Davey.”

“It’s the right thing to do. Even if I didn’t know Crutchie,” he said. 

Jack shook his head and reached up to pat David gently on the cheek. “Thanks anyway, darlin’.” 

David felt his mouth drop open and he stared at Jack stupidly as the other teen moved around him and retook his seat by the couch. Covertly, he glanced around to see if anyone else had noticed anything; but none of the others were even looking in their direction. David stood there in a stupor for what felt like days before the crash of something in the kitchen woke him back up. 

_This must be what going crazy feels like_ , David thought, partly hysterical and put to the side so he could focus on helping Crutchie. 

\- - - - - -

Luke came through for them, and for the next five days; Jack, David, Specs and Romeo took turns watching over their fallen friend while the fluids and medicine did its work. The bromine was initially so painful that they had to hold Crutchie down to apply it, but slowly – very slowly – they started to see improvement. His fever lowered and the when he was awake his coherence returned (though he slept most of the time). The map of infected veins retreated back towards the wound which stopped leaking a day or so before. 

David was exhausted. 

It was a feeling shared among all of them; Race included since he dropped by every day after work to sit with them. Luke was in and out of the apartment between shifts and despite a false start here and there, he and David fell back into easy conversation that David remembered from growing up. 

Conversely, David had no idea what to do with Jack. It was like the week they spent dancing around each other all over again except David was the only one doing the dancing because Jack, the bastard, didn’t change at all. It left him feeling wrong footed all the time and the frustration of it built up until he was muscles hurt from being tense and he had to fight not to snap at any of their other friends. He wanted to shake Jack down, maybe yell at him until he felt fully human again. The only thing that stopped him from doing it was the thought that Crutchie didn’t deserve to be pulled out of a fight for his life and instantly thrown into the middle of a emotional brawl between his two supposedly grown up friends. 

It couldn’t last forever. 

And it didn’t. 

David just wished it didn’t go the way it did. 

\- - - - - -

In the interest of full disclosure, David had been paying so much attention to his own issues that he hadn’t noticed just how much Luke and Jack seemed to dislike one another. Looking back, Race had tried to subtle mention it more than once, but David had brushed it off without much thought. Even Elmer had said something, mostly joking, about the doctor needing one of his own that was probably part of a longer sentiment that David hadn’t paid any mind too. 

That came to a head when Jack walked back into his apartment on day seven of Crutchie-sitting (Buttons’ name for it – the younger newsies thought it was hilarious) and looked at David and Luke laughing about something from when they were kids and the next thing David knew Jack had grabbed his arm and pulled him to his feet. 

“Jack, what the hell?” 

“I gotta talk ta Davey ‘bout something. You don’t mind, do ya Rothchild?”

Luke’s mouth turned downward, shook his head. “No, it’s fine.” 

“Great! Right this way, Davey,” Jack dropped his arm, but still managed to drag him along by hooking a finger into his vest and hauling him down the hall and into the bedroom. 

“God, Jack,” David said once the door was shut and they were staring at each other across the small room. 

“What the hell are you doin’?” Jack asked, taking a couple steps closer to where David was hovering near the bed, confused. 

“Excuse me?”

“Are you blind? Is that it?” 

“Blind? Jack, what the hell are you talking about?” 

Jack waved back towards the living room. “That – that – fucking dandy –” 

“Luke? What about him?” 

Jack’s face turned thunderous. “Look, I ain’t sayin’ that you have ta feel the same, but it ain’t fair ta me, okay? Can we agree with that at least?” 

“Can we agree about _what_? Jack, you aren’t making any sense,” David threw his arms up to punctuate his utter confusion. 

“He’s hittin’ on you! Jesus, Davey. Right in front of me – in my own goddamned apartment!” 

David sucked in a breath suddenly so furious he could spit nails. He shook his head violently and paced right up to where Jack was. “And that bothers you, huh?” 

“Of course it does!” 

“ _Why_?”

“You _know_ why!” 

“Oh, fuck you, Jack. You don’t get to do this – this – whatever the hell this is; jealous lover routine, when you don’t want me,” David hissed at him, “So, _knock. it. off_.” 

Jack’s face went through a series of small ticks before it hardened again. “Don’t want you.” 

“That’s what I said,” David said, lifting his head up, and taking full advantage of the measly two inch height difference between them as the first of his varied insecurities slid back into his awareness demanding to know just what he thought he was doing in a passable imitation of Jack’s voice from earlier, “What about it?” 

“Don’t want you. _I_ don’t want _you_ ,” Jack repeated again, voice going a little higher with each word. 

“Did I break you or what? Tell me, Jack,” David sneered, trying to cover his increasing incredulity that they were talking about this and it was both out of his control and his understanding. 

“ _I don’t_ – no, you know what? Fuck this,” Jack said and his hands came up and pulled David’s head down until his mouth was pressed against David’s. 

David froze. Jack made a small, nearly soundless noise as the stagnant air around them warmed; David tilted his head in response and they were kissing. Actually, properly kissing. A line of goosebumps crawled up David’s back and arms and he took that last step forward, aligning their bodies from toe to chest. 

Jack opened his mouth slightly, nudging David’s own lips to part and it went from chaste to a slow, almost drugged pace that totally belied the mood from before. Jack’s fingertips sunk into David’s hair, tugging gently; his thumb hooking down along David’s jawline while David wrapped one arm around Jack’s waist and the other hand dug finger shaped bruises into Jack’s hip. Jack’s hand tightened and David heard himself make a noise that could only be described as a moan as Jack swallowed it down and pulled back just enough to scrap his teeth against David’s bottom lip and to finally breath. 

They stood there; David’s lungs screaming at him and his knuckles felt locked into place where they were clutching at Jack. When he managed to pry his eyes open, he found Jack’s own already watching him; almost all pupil with only a ring of the multitude of colors that were normally there; flickering back and forth, waiting. 

David’s infamous mouth failed him. 

A throat clearing behind them was so out of place in the strange place they’d carved out around themselves, that David didn’t even take a step back when he looked over Jack’s shoulder to see Race standing in the doorway; his eyes looked huge in his face and he had one slack hand still on the doorknob, but despite the appearance, there wasn’t actually much shock permeating from his still figure. 

“I knocked,” the blond said, awkwardly loud in the quiet room. 

Abruptly, he and Jack realized exactly what was going on and they stepped back out of each other’s space almost in tandem. 

_Oh god. Oh god. OhgodOhgodOhgod_ , David felt the adrenaline from the fight rush back into his body, along with the remnants of his earlier fury and the crushing weight of his fear and confusion dragging its needle-like claws down his back until he was shivering for a completely different reason. 

“I have to go,” he blurted out, trying to stave off the panic he could feel building in his chest. His skin felt like it was on fire, like he needed to peel it off and maybe get a new heart and pair of lungs while he was at it. “I have to go,” he repeated, not recognizing the voice saying it. 

“Dave, wait –” 

“I have to go,” and with a new appreciation for what Sarah had been talking about that night on the fire escape he marched past Jack and Race without really seeing either of them. He vaguely heard Luke saying his name and even Crutchie’s huff of confusion and then he was out on the streets alone with the beating of his heart and the buzzing of his brain. 

He ran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1] The quote at the beginning of the chapter is from _The Wonderful Wizard of Oz_ by Frank L. Baum. (You may have heard of it. 😜) Specifically, from Barnes and Noble's preview of it b/c I do not own the book myself. It's also the book Davey bought at the start of the last chapter to read and it was published in May of 1900. 
> 
> 2] Did summer school exist in 1900? Probably not. I'm making it exist so that Davey can graduate and not repeat another year. So there. Creative license and all that. 
> 
> 3] Cocaine was not the taboo subject back then that it is now. People used that shit for everything; it was ridiculous. 
> 
> 4] I'm not entirely sure if this is how sepsis would be treated at the time; but antibiotics didn't exist yet (at least, not as we know them) so I did the best that I could. I think a lot of this kind of things was throw medicine at it and hope it works. I'm betting the odds weren't great normally.


	6. vi. burning lines in the book of our lives (i'll be in love with you)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here we are at the end. I want to thank each and every one of you who stopped to read this story, leave a kudos or comment; I hope you enjoyed it! You guys make the experience something to savor. 💖
> 
> This takes place immediately following the last chapter. There are two sections entirely in italics; those are small interludes from Davey's perspective because he and Jack don't interact until the last section and I wanted everyone to get a small dose of what he's doing during the absence. Also, be advised that the word 'queer' is used a couple times in this chapter as more or a slur; I was trying to be accurate to how they would've referred to those on the LGBT scale; even themselves. I apologize for the offense beforehand. 
> 
> Chapter title from _Longer_ by Dan Fogelberg (which is a beautiful love song).

Jack was an idiot. 

Race eyed him, completely unimpressed. The look was so reminiscent of Spot that he would’ve done a double-take if he’d had the energy. As it was, all he could do was backtrack until he flopped onto his bed and buried the heel of his hands into his eyes. 

“That was smooth, Kelly,” Race said.

“Fuck off, Race.” 

“That ain’t happenin’,” the blond finally walked into the room and shut the door softly behind him. Jack listened to his footsteps clear the distance between them before he felt the thin mattress sag beside him, “Talk ta me, Jack.” 

Jack barked out a laugh. “What’s there ta explain? You saws it – he booked outta here faster than a spooked horse.” 

“After you was in here fightin’,” Race paused, “And neckin’ apparently. And here I thought me and Spot was a mess.” 

Jack lowered his hands and looked over at him. Race’s face was bland, but he also wasn’t looking at Jack at all; drilling holes into the opposite wall instead. “We talkin’ ‘bout this now?” 

“Yes,” Race said, voice only wobbling a little, “probably should ‘ave a long time ago.”

“If it makes ya feel any better,” Jack offered, thrown by the turn in the conversation, “I already knew.” 

“That ain’t so reassurin’,” Race answered, and crossed his arms over his chest, “Means we’re too obvious or somethin’.” 

Jack shook his head. “Nah, is jus’ cause I know you. And Spot, I guess; sad as that is.” 

Race’s lips quirked upward into a small smile. He peered over at Jack from his perch on the bed; eyes calculating. “Ain’t nobody gonna care, Jack.”

Jack scoffed. “Tell that ta the guys who get dead for it.” 

“I meant us, you asshole. None of _us_ care. Shit, Jack – we been waitin’ for it since forever seems like.” 

“Race –” 

“No, seriously. You and Davey – you’re the ones at the end of the book, okay? The one everyone’s rootin’ for.” 

“Sure, we is,” Jack said, the mild throbbing that had taken up residence in his skull since Davey had fled was beginning to make his whole head feel like it was in a percussion den, “We’re a fuckin’ fairy tale.” 

“Was that a pun? Because if it was, it ain’t funny,” Race said, frowning. 

“No, Race, it was not. It was me bein’ skeptical ‘bout whatever the fuck you’re tryin’ ta tell me.” 

“Ya know da kids already think youse together, right?” 

Jack stopped and blinked. He looked over at Race who was staring back with a singular eyebrow raised. “What?” 

“What’d da expect? The two ‘a you are always together and takin’ care of everyone. Ya remember that day we went to the park, what, a couple months ago?” 

“Yeah?” Jack said cautiously; he felt like he was stepping around bombs, he was so tense. 

“Ya didn’t see yourself, Jack. But the rest of us – we noticed, okay? You was sittin’ together, a little ways off from everyone and it was like there was this bubble ‘round ya that none of us could touch. You guys have always been like that. Even my fa – even Morgan mentioned it. Said he ‘hadn’t figured Kelly fer queer, but the Jacobs kid was a sight better ‘den most a the gutter whores walkin’ ‘round, so he could almost understand it’.”

Jack could’ve lived the rest of his life happy not knowing that Morgan Higgins somehow kind of approved of his taste in partners. Especially considering the automatic protectiveness that welled up in him at the idea that the lowdown bastard had given any thought to Davey one way or the other. “Is there a point ta this, Race? Besides pissing me off?” 

Race sighed long-sufferingly. “My point is dat it’s been a long time comin’, Jack. And apparently you and Davey was the only people who didn’t know it.” 

Jack clenched his fists at the matter-of-fact tone to Race’s voice. His headache beating in time with the suddenly furious tilt of his heart. “And what the fuck does it matter, huh?” Davey’s petrified face flashed in his mind. “Maybe he was right ta leave. Be the smartest thing he could do; leavin’ me and gettin’ the hell away.”

“Jack –”

He got up. “I can’t talk about this, anymore. Crutchie’s still sick and I – I can’t deal with this and that right now. I need time,” he pierced Race with a look, ignoring the frustrated furrow in his friend’s brows or the hard line of his mouth, “And don’t go buggin’ Davey about it neither. I meant it, Race.”

“Whatever you say,” Race said; it sounded a lot like _you’re a fucking idiot and I’m being generous not pointing that out_ , but Jack couldn’t make himself care about Race’s annoyance. 

He was an idiot. It was about time someone around here started saying it. 

\- - - - - -

( _Sarah’s look of alarm as he passed did exactly nothing to help the painful thumping of his heart after he flew into the apartment and all but dropped inside his room. Seconds later, her tentative footsteps announced her arrival and the soft click of the door shrouded the silence around them in the bedroom; broken only by his attempt to pull air into his raging lungs._

_“David, what happened?”_

_He looked up; her brown eyes were projecting concern and they widened at whatever look had planted itself on his face. She knelt beside him; mouth pinched. “Is it Crutchie?”_

_He shook his head. “Sarah, I –” his voice tripped and collapsed and to his distant horror he felt tears slip down his cheeks._

_She gathered him in her arms; difficult now since he was far bigger than her, but the familiar protective strength made the thick, choking emotion settled in his chest loosen slightly. “It’s okay, Dave. Whatever it is, it’ll be okay.”_

_David dug his fingers into the arm wrapped around his chest and didn’t say a word._ )

\- - - - -

Things went slowly after that. 

Crutchie healed; bit by bit, day by day, until he could walk again and get around by himself. Jack threw his everything into taking care of him; smothering him until the normally accommodating teen threatened to beat him with his crutch if he didn’t back off a little. From the reports he got from Albert and Specs, Davey was busy finishing the last of his schooling so he could graduate and only spent a couple hours a day at the lodging house helping out. 

Jack took their word for it. It wasn’t like he’d seen the other man since he’d fucked it all up. 

He did his cartoons – one was so darkly critical that he was actually worried about submitting it; Pulitizer gave him a small bonus check he was so impressed. Figured the bastard would find gallows humor funny – and he started a new backdrop for Medda, who watched him work with a frown and worried eyes. 

“Where’s your other half, honey?” She’d finally asked after three days of careful observation. 

Only quick reflexes kept him from smudging the line of the ocean he was painting. “My other half?” 

Medda put her hands on her hips and peered down at him. “Don’t get cute with me, mister. You know very well who I’m talking about.” 

Jack shrugged. “He’s busy. Gettin’ ready ta finish school an’ all.” 

“Uh-huh,” Medda eyed him shrewdly, not fooled in the slightest, “well, you tell that man of yours that I want to see him. It’s been too long; I wanna make sure he’s taking care of himself.” 

Jack nodded, not meeting her eyes. He felt her hand squeeze his shoulder and the swish of her gown as she moved by him. He looked over at where his hand was hovering just off the canvas; the limb was trembling. Slowly, he lowered it and took a wheezy breath. 

It couldn’t last. 

At some point, Crutchie’s confused looks melted into annoyed understanding (obviously Race had filled him in; the sneaky brat) and he kept trying to corner Jack and talk about it. Jack gave him the run around until, fed up, he said that he was going back to the lodging house. At first that was a relief – as guilty as he felt thinking it – but then the hours of being alone dragged out the days in an almost unbearable fashion. 

It was two weeks in hell, before – apparently – someone decided to bring out the big guns. 

He was bone tired and soaked through from the spring rain that had hounded the city all afternoon (at least it was warm – the benefit of June showing its face) as he pulled up to his apartment only to find the stoop occupied by an equally as wet figure huddled there. He stopped, wary. 

“Who’s there?” 

The figure took a step forward so that the faint glow from the nearest streetlamp gave them shape and a face. Jack blinked, startled when he realized he recognized said face. “Spot?”

The Brooklyn man crossed his arms over his chest. “Yeah, it’s me.” 

Jack shook his head, confused. “What are you doin’ here?” 

Spot sighed exaggeratedly. “You gonna sat out here for da interrogation or what? ‘Cause I’se been sittin’ here for over an hour and I ain’t in da mood, if you read me.” 

Jack frowned, hackles raising instinctively at the needling tone of Spot’s voice. “It’s my place, Conlon. I don’t have ta let you in if I don’t wanna.” 

Spot pinned him with an impressive glower. “Open the fuckin’ door, Kelly.”

“Fine,” Jack bit out and brushed past the shorter man to do as he was bid. When he unlocked the door, he made sure to do a ridiculous bow to usher Spot into the apartment. Spot, never one to be outdone, slapped him upside the head as he walked by and disappeared into the space before Jack could retaliate. 

“So, what do I owe this displeasure too?” Jack asked after dropping his bag and coat on the small dining table going to change clothes quickly. He offered Spot a towel out of common courtesy. 

Spot took it and roughly dried his hair. “Race told me you was being a dumbass, so I thought I’d try ta talk some sense into ya.” 

“Well you can tell Race that I appreciate the concern, but it ain’t necessary. And I especially don’t need ‘im callin’ in his attack dog.” 

Spot scowled. “Ya know; I used ta hate you somethin’ fierce.” 

Jack snorted. “I’m shocked.” 

“But eventually, I pulled my head outta my ass and realized dat it was because you and I ain’t that different.” 

“Oh, spare me,” Jack said moving away into the kitchen to look for something to eat. 

Spot followed, persistent to a fault. “Which is why,” the Brooklynite stressed, “I’m tellin’ you dat this is somethin’ you can’t run away from forever. You gotta be da one ta take the first step, here.” 

Jack curled his hands into fists and refused to turn around and look at his unwanted companion. “I gotta, do I?” 

“I get dat he ran,” Spot’s voice took a slightly more gentle tone, which stunned Jack who was used to hearing Spot’s more default settings of gruff annoyance or begrudging acceptance, “But he ain’t one of us. Don’t get your panties in a twist, Kelly, I mean he didn’t grow up da way we did. Think about it. How scared was you the first time you looked at a man and realized what that meant?” 

Jack turned around. Spot was standing there, implacable as stone, watching him without an once of visible regret. Jack’s mind flashed back to being fifteen; sneaking into the backstage at Medda’s to catch a glimpse of the one her performers and the rush of cold that doused him when it caught in his awareness that it was because he _wanted_ the actor; the same way he’d wanted the pretty girl who worked at the restaurant he passed every day. Even then he knew what could happen if certain kind of folks were caught. There were safe places – safe as could be anyway – bars and clubs that made their living in being discrete; but they were few and far between. He’d spent the better part of a year jumping at shadows and afraid that others would be able to tell just looking at him. 

“I remember,” he said. 

Spot nodded. “Now imagine you ain’t never been exposed ta none of it and then one day ya show up at a distribution center and some loud mouth pretty boy basically slaps yer head with it. Only ya don’t realize it until months later and by then yer fucked ‘cause your whole damn life revolves around the asshole. How fucked would you be, Kelly?”

“I –” 

“And it’s just one more thing, right? One more thing dat he’s got dat makes ‘im different. That keeps ‘im apart from da rest of the world.” 

Jack stared. “One more thing?” 

Spot gave him a Look before he put out three fingers and began ticking them off, “He’s poor. He’s Jewish. And now, he’s queer on top of it all. Dat’s a whole lotta shit ta put on one guy, Jack.”

Intellectually, Jack knew that Davey dealt with a lot. It just had never really struck him how much of that were things that Jack had no ability to actually conceptualize. On the streets, among the rest of the city’s misfits, things like race and religion were less of a burden (at least, when amongst the other downtrodden), and being poor was a staple they all had in common so discriminating against it would be stupid. Davey had mentioned that school wasn’t great for him; though Jack had assumed it was because he was shy and not because of things beyond his control entirely. But he could remember now how Davey had told him about an attack on one of the other Jewish family’s businesses; the threats that were left for the tenets of his neighborhood sometimes. He’d said it with such resigned nonchalance that Jack hadn’t been sure how to take it. It hadn’t really occurred to him that Davey could be in danger just living where he did because it was a well-known Jewish section of the city. His heart seized at the idea and then raced into doubletime. 

“Jesus,” Jack breathed and Spot nodded seriously in front of him. 

“Exactly. He’s kinda all over da place right now. Got a good front for the youngins’ but the rest of your ramble ain’t stupid – much as it pains me ta say it,” Spot said. 

They stood in silence; Spot waiting patiently (not as surprising as Jack would like; the Brooklynite had always been patient when everyone least wanted him to be) and Jack turning all of that over in his head. At some point, he slouched past Spot and dropped into one of the chairs at the table. 

“So, what do I do, then?” 

Spot shook his head, looking uncertain for the first time that night. “I can’t tell you that. All I can say is that whatever it is? You’re gonna have ta be da one to start it.” 

“Great, that’s real helpful, Conlon.” 

“Be honest, Kelly,” Spot said, “And try ta keep dat temper ‘a yours in check, huh? Race loves Davey; and I ain’t gonna be happy if your stupid fuckin’ self drives him away.” 

“As if you don’t like Davey yourself,” Jack said. 

“Yeah, well, he’s a lot easier ta deal with den you. All da borough leaders in New York can agree on dat one thing. It’s a goddamned miracle.” 

“Okay, okay,” Jack rolled his eyes, “I got da point, already.” 

“Do ya? ‘Cause I can tell Whistler dat Davey’s got a broken heart dat needs nursing back ta health. Piper, too, maybe. That little spitfuck wouldn’t even mind bein’ a rebound.” 

Jack narrowed his eyes. “You can fuck off anytime now, Conlon.” 

Spot gave him a sharp grin at that. “Good. I got better things in Manhattan ta look at den you.” 

“Tell Race I said hi and that next time he can keep his opinions to his self.” 

“Well do,” Spot flicked his hand out with a semi-recognizable wave of farewell and left Jack to his piecemeal thoughts. 

The quiet was especially suffocating that night. 

\- - - - - -

( _David ghosted around the stagehands messing with the rigging; responding to their called out greetings with a wave and as much of a smile as he could muster. The energy backstage was upbeat and mostly relaxed, in a few hours it would be a hectic mess, but for now it was nice to weave in and out of the familiar faces dotting the hallways and catwalks._

_He was about to ask one of light operators if they knew were Medda was, when his eye caught a sharp, almost chaotic splash of color. He turned and approached the new backdrop as if his feet had a mind of their own. The scene was beautifully done – as all of Medda’s backdrops were – but there was a darkness to it that the others didn’t have. It was ocean, rocking upward in violent swells, caught in some kind of titanic storm; dark blues and hints of black making the nighttime scene sinister and almost frightening. The beach along the edge of the ocean was rocky; jagged cliffs rising out to crush any ship that might be unlucky enough to be trapped in the unrelenting gale. Off the side; almost out of frame completely, was the gentle yellow glow of a distance lighthouse – it was the only kindness on the canvas._

_“What’da think?”_

_Medda’s soft question startled him out of his own swirling thoughts and he turned to the songstress who was watching him with a keen eye._

_“It’s amazing, but –”_

_“Yes?”_

_“It’s kinda…” David hesitated, “Sad, though, isn’t it?” It was probably supposed to evoke chaos and anger, but to him it screamed more of loneliness and despair._

_Medda hummed. “It is. But then, I don’t think the artist was at his best when he did it. Art imitates life, they say.”_

_David turned to look at her. She rose an eyebrow at him and it fell into place what she meant by that. He sucked in a breath. “Jack did this?”_

_“Just finished a few days ago,” she said._

_The crushing sadness of the piece transformed its weight to his own chest when he looked back at it with new eyes. He swallowed hard; it took effort not to reach out and touch it – as if he could gage Jack’s mood from that alone. He looked at that bleak shot of hope that the beam of light in the corner represented._

_Medda sighed. “What am I going to do with you boys, huh?”_

_David felt tears prickle at his eyelashes, blurring the painting into eddies of color. “Medda, I –”_

_A warm arm wrapped around his shoulders and he was pulled into a gentle hug; the smell of cherry blossoms from her perfume permeated his senses and to his horror, he let out a cracked sob at the gentleness. She sighed again._

_“Come on. Let’s get you some tea and food and you can tell me all about it, okay?”_

_David nodded and leaned slightly into the guiding hand she left on his back as they moved._ )

\- - - - - -

Davey graduated on first of July; Jack figured that was as good a time as any to rip the bandage off and get the confrontation done with. 

The next day, he showed up at the lodging house to the sounds of a party in full swing. Crutchie and Race had insisted on having one for Davey when he finally got through his schooling and it was something Jack knew he couldn’t miss no matter the state of his relationship with the other teen. Romeo greeted him at the door with a tight hug and a glazed look to his eyes that spoke volumes about how trashed he was. The first floor was mostly a mess of toys and games that the younger crowd was engaged in with an indulgent Elmer and Tommy Boy watching over them. Romeo led him past them and up the stairs where the others were doing their best to pretend they weren’t mostly drunk. 

He spent some time talking to the guys he didn’t get to see as much now that he wasn’t living in the house anymore and grabbed two drinks himself to loosen his nerves up to manageable. When he finally worked up the courage to talk to Davey, the other teen was nowhere to be found. He bounced over Race and Spot snuggling much more openly than normal on one of the corner bunks and met Crutchie’s knowing eyes; mouthing _where’s Davey?_ to him from across the room. The blond jerked his head in the direction of the fire escape and then gave him an encouraging smile when Jack nodded and headed for the window. 

Davey was sitting, cross-legged on the roof of the building when Jack found him; staring out over the city and unconsciously drawing invisible patterns in the concrete beneath him. Making enough noise so that he didn’t feel like he was sneaking up on him, Jack walked over and then gingerly took a seat beside him. 

“Congratulations.” 

Davey’s fingers stilled and he pulled his hand into his lap. “Thanks.”

Jack bit his lip. “I’m sorry.” 

Davey let that sit between them for a moment, thinking. “You don’t – there’s nothing to apologize for, Jack.” 

“I was an ass,” Jack countered, “And you didn’t deserve it.”

He saw Davey close his eyes briefly. “It’s fine. None of us were in a great place at the time. Worried about Crutchie and exhausted. We were bound to snap sooner or later. I’m sorry I let myself yell back. You didn’t deserve it either.” 

“For the record,” Jack took a breath, picking his words as carefully as he could, “I’m ain’t sorry about kissing you.” 

Davey’s head swung around to look at him for the first time; mostly involuntarily, Jack assumed. His dark eyes were wide and mouth parted slightly in shock. “What?” 

“I said I ain’t gonna apologize for kissing you. The rest of it was fucked, but that? That was a long time coming, probably.”

Davey stared at him incredulously, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “Are you – are you serious?”

Jack laughed, though it sound more pained than anything. He had to force himself to keep eye contact and not give in to any of the more unfortunate defensive measures he was used to in an effort to avoid personal conversations. “C’mon Dave. You gotta know that I’d fuckin’ fall at your feet if ya asked me too.”

“No, I don’t,” Davey said immediately, voice confused, “I don’t know that at all.” 

“God,” Jack ran a hand through his hair, “It might’ve taken me a while to figure it, but shit, Davey, you basically had me the minute ya started arguing with Weasel that first day. I feel like I been chasing after ya ever since.” 

Davey shook his head. “If anyone’s been chasing someone in this relationship, it’s been me chasing you, Jack Kelly.”

“Oh, yeah? Is that why you haven’t said ten words ta me in a almost a month?”

Chagrined, Davey broke eye contact. When he spoke next, it was stilted; voice clogged with emotion. “You’re right. That was shitty of me; I’m sorry.”

“Then why’d ya do it? Why couldn’t you just talk ta me?” 

Davey sighed and his body slumped down as if the effort of holding its form had been cut away. “My mother won’t talk to me.” 

Jack blinked at the non-squinter. “What?” 

“Since that night,” Davey put emphasis on the word night at the memory of that almost-kiss in the Jacob’s kitchen snapped to the forefront of Jack’s mind, “She can barely look at me. A week ago, I got into a fight with her about it and now my father... Les doesn’t have any clue about what’s going on and Sarah’s trying to protect me and…it’s a fucking mess. None of us know what the hell to do with one another.”

“Fuck, Davey,” Jack honestly didn’t know what to say to that. His chest burned at the implications of it all and he put a hand tentatively out until he was clutching Davey’s knee. 

After a moment, Davey’s chilled hand covered his and the other teen continued, almost whispering. “I didn’t know what to do with myself, Jack, let alone what to do with you or any of this. It’s not an excuse, but I’m…I’m lost.” 

Jack swallowed. “Maybe…maybe jus’ tell me what you want.” 

“What I want?” Davey snorted. “I want a lot of things.” 

“Don’t do that,” Jack said, frowning, “Jus’ tell me.” 

“I want my parents to look at me. I want to not feel so damned helpless. I want to not feel afraid,” Davey stopped and then abruptly looked back at Jack, eyes determined, “I want _you_.” 

Jack’s breath disappeared into the night air. He dug his fingers into Davey’s hand trying to convince himself that he was in reality. Davey let him even though he was probably leaving bruises. “How,” he tripped over the word, cleared his throat of the dark croak in them and began again, “How do you want me?” 

A strange, choked off bubble of laughter escaped Davey mouth; the look in his eyes edging into manic. “Like this,” he said and kissed him. 

Jack closed his eyes and savored the feeling of Davey’s lips on his. The other teen moaned lowly and deepened the kiss of a blissful, breathless second before pulling away. When Jack looked at him, Davey was watching him, a little shy and tense, but with an overwhelming sense of patience. None of the terror that had ruined the moment last time. Jack brought a hand up and swept a thumb over Davey’s lips and couldn’t help sucking in his breath with Davey nipped lightly at the digit. 

“You’re not gonna run this time, right? ‘Cause, I’ll be honest, Dave – I can’t do that again.” 

Guilt overtook Davey’s features for a moment and then smoothed out and he gave Jack a wry smile. “No running. If you want to try, then I want to try. I’m kind of over myself at this point.” 

Jack laughed and couldn’t help but steal another kiss for that. It quickly escalated enough that when they came back up for breath, panting, Davey was half in Jack’s lap and the small animal part of Jack’s brain wanted to say _fuck it_ and strip Davey out of his clothes and get his mouth on more satisfying areas of other’s body, but out in the open, on the roof of a lodging house where their friends were drunk and liable to come looking for them at some point didn’t seem like a great idea to the more rational part of mind. He grabbed at Davey’s hips to stop the rhythmic movements that started doing and Davey stilled. He leaned back a bit from Jack, questioning. 

“You okay?” 

Jack shook his head, then nodded. “Yes. No. I mean yes, but we’ve got ta stop now or we ain’t gonna at all and this is not how I wanted this ta go.” 

Davey quirked an eyebrow upwards. “I’m not a girl, Jack. I don’t need a featherbed.” He ground down a bit and Jack kissed him with a groan, before shifting Davey’s body back enough that their lower halves weren’t touching. 

“Don’t mean ya don’t deserve better than a dirty rooftop,” he said with they disconnected again. “Besides, you want ta deal with one of the guys seeing that if they show up?” 

Davey winced at that. “Okay, yeah, you’ve got a point.” 

Jack pulled him back into another kiss, nipping at Davey’s swollen lip before pushing him off gently, smiling. “I’ve always got a point.” 

Davey rolled his eyes, but he returned the smile. The kind that Jack wanted to see every day for as long as he was able. “Sometimes.” 

They stared one another like a couple of besotted idiots for a moment before Davey shivered at the gust of the cooling night air and Jack scrambled to his feet, offering Davey a hand. 

“I hear there’s a party we’se missing,” he said.

“Worth it,” Davey said, getting to his feet. 

When they made their way back into the party, Race took one look at their entangled hands and whistled, which made the rest of inhabitants turn towards them curiously. Albert was the next to notice and fistpumped in the air; turning immediately to Mush and telling the groaning teen to pay up. Romeo came over and pulled them into a haphazard hug, mumbling encouragement before Finch wandered over to pull the smaller newsie off them with a wink of his own. Spot met Jack’s eyes and gave him a two fingered salute with a genuine smile pulling at his mouth. 

Crutchie was the only one to approach them, a hopeful grin of his own lighting up his face. “You two get sorted?” 

They exchanged looks. “Yeah,” Jack said, “We’re gettin’ there.” 

“Good,” the blond said decisively, “You know the kids hate it when you guys fight. Throws da whole dynamic off.” 

Davey rolled his eyes. “We’ll have to remember that.” 

“Be sure dat you do,” Crutchie wiggled a finger in front of their faces and then walked over to join Specs, Buttons and a now sprawled Romeo where they were playing poker (and without Race there, actually stood a chance of winning something). 

Jack took in the content atmosphere of the room and turned to Davey. “You feel better?”

Davey took the time to think about it and answer. “Yes. I’m still – well,” He looked at Jack and smiled crookedly, “It’ll get better. And this,” he waved a hand between them, “makes the rest of it seem…less. Does that make sense?” 

Jack looked at Davey, memorizing the facets of his face, tracing over the contours of his cheeks, the slope of his nose, the sweep of his eyelashes and the intensity that reflected in his eyes. His checkered shirt was undone at the throat and his hair was a barely controlled mess from earlier. This was the man he had started a union with; the one who took on a whole industry because he asked him too. The idea that they couldn’t overcome whatever else might be waiting for him at the other end of the tunnel suddenly seemed totally unfathomable. 

He nodded, mirroring the smile Davey had given him on the roof; a weight that he’d never realized he’d been carrying around lifted from his shoulders. 

“Completely,” he said, “It makes perfect sense.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't want to get anyone's hopes up, but at some point in the future I might do a couple one-shots in this verse of the sprace and newsbians variety. Maybe a sequel. But it would be after I finish another project or two, so don't expect it soon. 
> 
> Again, thank you to everyone! Have a wonderful week and may your lives be filled with joy! 🦇

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter Title comes from Julia Michaels' _If You Need Me_. 
> 
> I also have a [tumblr](https://reluctantcoppercrowds.tumblr.com), if you want to ask questions or watch me ramble about hockey, fandom and random stuff.


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